SwordBearer
by Arkaidy
Summary: In 2005, The United Nations issues an official statement: There are Immortals Among Us. In October 2006, a law is passed requiring all Immortals to wear thier Weaponry in plain sight. An Immortal tries to go on with life, but people do tend to stare.
1. Backstory

Sword Bearer  
  
By Vega  
  
Standard Disclaimers Apply, All Rights Reserved.  
  
Fandom: "Highlander: The Series"  
  
Rating: Unknown as of yet  
  
Status: Incomplete  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter One: Backdrop  
  
In March of the year 2005, FBI agent Harold G. Myers is shot between the eyes. Upon delivery of the corpse to the morgue at the Pentagon - a short stop over between the site of death and the hometown where the bachelor was to be buried - Agent Myers proceeds to sit up, apologize profusely to the resident pathologist for startling him, and begs the doctor not to 'tell'.  
  
Unaware of the surveillance camera that captures the event, Myers goes on to explain to the startled mortician that he is in fact a human being with a specific genetic defect, known to his kind only as "An Immortal". Myers, due to some freak sequencing of his genetic structure, has an immune system so efficient that his body is in a perpetual state of renewal, rather than the mortal state of perpetual decay.  
  
Myers professes to being over three hundred years old. The pathologist swears to secrecy and aids Myers in his escape. He is arrested three days later.  
  
In April, the Federal Bureau of Investigations captures the fugitive Agent Myers and submits him to extensive interrogations and testing, resulting in the accidental 'permanent' death of Myers upon decapitation, and the destruction of most of the information gathered on Immortality in the resulting backlash of energy bombardments that surge from the body of Myers and rip through the compound.  
  
Before the FBI can repair the lab and uncover more test subjects, a secret international society known as the "Watchers" come forward and reveal their extensive tomes of research and libraries to the United States Government. All testing on Immortals ceases within legal circles.  
  
The next four months are spent in secret talks with the major political figureheads of all the countries of the world, and this mysterious "Watchers" organization. No information on the discussions themselves is revealed to the mass media.  
  
In August of 2005, the United Nations releases an official statement to the world: There Are Immortals Among Us.  
  
Believing that this new era of multimedia and informations technology is straining the survival of the Immortal Species, the Watchers oust themselves and their subjects. Specific names and information is not distributed, although the chronicles of deceased Immortals do become available in published novel form. Many history text books are re-written.  
  
The backlash is minimal. Several religious groups oppose the existence of Immortals and there are witch hunts in several major cities and some remote countries. The United Nations declare Immortals 'Human Beings' under the law and any formal persecution is ceased.  
  
A disturbingly high rate of violent suicides follow, as mortals attempt to trigger their latent Immortality - less than 2% actually become Immortal. Before laws are required to keep this in check, the pattern dies away.  
  
Immortals who do not approve of their new public personas either arrange for friends to decapitate them, or find ways of releasing their own Quickenings. Immortals with extensive criminal records are hunted by the law and turned over to the Watchers, who then select suitable vessels to receive their Quickenings.   
  
The Game continues, although many Immortals no longer feel the need to participate.  
  
An 'International Immortal Government' is formed in January of 2006, and in March of that same year, all Immortals are issued "Identification of Immortal Status" cards. These cards act as Age of Majority Cards for Immortals who appear younger than they are, and allow Immortals who had been hiding behind mountains of falsified documents to reclaim their original identities, and in some cases, fortunes. A small cut on the thumb is required as proof of Immortality for those skeptical of the Card's verity - for this reason, very few Fake Immortal Ids are employed by teenagers.  
  
One Duncan McLeod, an Immortal of approximately four hundred years, becomes Avatar of Brotherhood between Immortal and Mortal Humans. Universities all over the world begin to seek out Immortals to teach their History and Language classes. Sword-smith shops spring up in all the major cities.  
  
March 26th, the day of the True Death of Harold G. Myers is declared an International Holiday.  
  
Guidelines for Appropriate Challenges are issued in June of 2006 as the number of deaths by electrocution rise alarmingly when mortals attempt to witness battles in The Game. Formal Combat Areas are established in most major cities to keep watching Mortals at a safe distance.  
  
Violent crimes rise in many North American cities as Mortals posing as Immortals utilize blades to commit robberies, muggings, etc.  
  
To counter act this rise in crime, in October of 2006 a law is passed by the United Nations requiring all weaponry must be worn on in plain sight, and may only be carried by Card-Carrying Immortals. At first there is opposition to this. One Adam Peirson, an Immortal of approximately thirty five years of age, citing the lynches of the previous year, lobbies that the Visible Weaponry Law would make Immortals targets to Hate Groups.   
  
Punishments regarding Racist Crimes are increased, and Peirson backs down.  
  
As of midnight, October 17th, 2006, all Immortals must wear their weaponry in plain sight. Failure to do so will result in a five year prison term. 


	2. Firstday

Chapter Two: Firstday  
  
October 18th, 2006  
  
I never minded riding on the bus before today.  
  
The ride from my apartment to the University is forty-five minutes. Usually I spend is catching up on my readings or listening to music, or sneaking in a nap. Normally, the time passes quickly.  
  
Today I felt every excruciating minute.  
  
Eyes darted between my face, the Black Swept hilt of the Racketeur Rapier that lay in it's leather sheath against my thigh, and back again, then down and away.  
  
I liked my Nuit Noire Rapier - I had lifted it from a highwayman that had attempted to rob me in the late 1700s and enjoyed the balance of the hilt so much that I had made a point of keeping it in good repair. "Prenez votre vie, prenez votre bourse, acune matiere, prise juste cela tout," he had hissed at me, and I never forgot that motto.  
  
"Take your purse, take your life, take anything, so long as it's everything."   
  
I tried to live my life like that - of course, without the crime and murder it implied. I had no desire to take up brigandry, despite my rather melodramatic looking weapon.  
  
At it's full length the rapier had measured roughly forty-four inches long, although I had it shortened to a more manageable thirty five when I inherited it. My arms were not as long as the highwayman's had been, and I found it too cumbersome to fight with. I was a short young woman, after all - I had died at age twenty two.  
  
Normally I liked my sword.  
  
Today I wished it didn't exist.  
  
Eyes followed me off the bus and I attempted to wrap my long coat around me in such away as to disguise the bouncing of the weapon against my leg as I scuttled into the school and towards the Tim Horton's kiosk. I always had coffee before class.  
  
Today I stood in line and got open-mouthed stares.   
  
I changed my mind about the coffee.  
  
I went straight to the lecture hall. The longer I lingered in the hallways, the more stares I got. It was making me uncomfortable and I could feel my face burning. There were a few other students in the room already, gathered around the podium at the bottom of the hall, talking to the professor.  
  
While their backs were turned, I quickly stripped my belt off, trying to minimize the clinking metal sound of the heavy buckles that kept the thick leather straps wrapped around my waist and upper thigh. It was hard with shaking hands.  
  
I intended to sling the whole thing over the back of the chair and cover it with my coat so it could not be seen, but it slipped off the smooth grey plastic and clattered loudly against the cement floor. The group of students all looked at me and, my face bright red, I bent and retrieve my sword.  
  
"Sorry," I whispered and managed to hang it properly this time. I threw my coat over top of it, mortified.  
  
"Ms. Deidre?"  
  
I winced and looked up, fingers curling around the hilt. "Yes, Professor Martin?"  
  
He had a small scowl and a furrow between his eyebrows. That meant he was thinking about something particularly hard. I'd had him for three years of English History already. "May I see you after class?"  
  
I winced again. "Yes."  
  
He nodded and resumed his conversation with the other students, yanking their gawking stares from me and back to himself. When class started I just buried my nose in my notebook and prayed that I would wake up and this would be a nightmare.  
  
I had never wished so much that someone would show up asking after my head.  
  
~~~  
  
Author's Note:  
  
These chapters are short, I know. I'm still feeling out the idea, so any advice or feedback would be especially welcome.   
  
--Vega 


	3. Resume

Chapter Three: Resume  
  
October 18th, 2006 - mid-morning  
  
I really really wish I had gotten that coffee.   
  
It's not that I'm dependant on it. It's just that if anything was going to soothe my nerves right now it was either caffeine, tobacco, or booze. Seeing as I gave up smoking three decades ago (not because of health issues, obviously - they were just getting bloody expensive), and the campus bar wouldn't start serving until noon (even a University has standards), coffee was my only bet.  
  
I just didn't want to stand in line.  
  
I was seriously considering dropping out. That would make things easier, right? I could take off, easy as pie, start a new life in... oh. No. Wait. I had legal paperwork now. I couldn't just 'vanish'. And besides, people would rubberneck wherever I went any way...  
  
Unless I went to the Arctic.  
  
I was seriously considering the reliability of a diesel generator in sub-zero weather when everyone else around me started to get to their feet. I swung my head around, scanning with my eyes. Nope, no Buzz. No fire.   
  
Where the hell was everyone going?  
  
Ah - I had been so busy willing a hole in the ground to open that I hadn't been paying attention to the lecture. It was over and all I had on my notebook page was lots and lots of doodles of flowers. God, three hundred years and all I could draw was stupid smiley-face daisies.  
  
Weren't Immortals supposed to get sophisticated and talented and crap?  
  
I sighed and sank lower in my chair. Professor Martin was LOOKING at me, and LOOKED right back. He lowered his eyes to his desk and collected up his papers and overheads. I waited until the lecture hall was empty, then stood, jammed my notebook into my backpack, slung my coat over my arm, and grabbed my sword by the sheath.  
  
He wore an expression of careful neutrality as I descended the cement steps towards him.  
  
"Professor Martin," I said softly when I got to the bottom.  
  
"Ms. Deidre," he replied in equally low tones. "I must say... this is a ... surprise."  
  
Suddenly, my shoelaces were very very fascinating. I shrugged.  
  
"The other class will be coming in." He grabbed his own coat and gestured for me to follow him out the back entrance to the hall. The lecture halls were connected in the back by a service tunnel that a lot of the Profs liked to use to slip into the classroom without being harassed my stressed-out students in the halls. I followed behind him.  
  
He was a soft spoken but intelligent man in his mid forties, mostly bald on top, with wire-rimmed glasses that perched on his beaky nose. He liked sweater-vests, I had noticed by mid-way through my first year here, and beige dress pants with perfect little pleats in the front. I wondered if his wife ironed them. I wondered if he had a wife.  
  
I had been married in... oh... 1716, I think it was. My husband, a Presbyterian I had been given to by my adoptive father because it was a politically advantageous match, had died three years later in the crossing to Boston from Derry Cove of one disease or another, and I kicked it soon thereafter. I'd had no children, of corse, so they just dumped our corpses into the Atlantic.  
  
Fucking cold swim, I can tell you that much.  
  
Professor Martin's calm stride reminded me briefly of Donnell. If he had lived, would he have gotten all saggy around the middle too?  
  
We reached the Professor's office, and I was suddenly afraid to go in. I'd been in this office a hundred times before. There was nothing in the office to be afraid of. Except... except his questions.  
  
He held the door open for me and waited, patience in his eyes.  
  
Finally I let out a blowing sigh and walked in, shut the door behind me, and lay down my bag and coat on one of the chairs. I sat in the other, clutching my sword in my lap. He put his lecture notes into his filing cabinet, then perched on the edge of the desk. His gaze swept me once, then rested on my sword.  
  
"It's beautiful," he breathed. "Nuit Noire Rapier, isn't it?"  
  
I nodded. "Mm-hmm. Mid 1700s. Got it from a highwayman."  
  
He sucked in an excited breath, his fingers twitching in his lap. "He gave it to you?"  
  
I nodded again. "You might say that. When I woke up he had left in a very convenient place, where I was sure to find it." I smiled briefly at the puzzlement that flashed across his face. "My heart."  
  
His mouth opened in a little 'o' of surprise.  
  
"You can look at it, if you want." I held it up for him, willing the awkward silence to go away. We had never had awkward silences before - true, that was mostly because when I found him here I spent the visit snipping at him about the inaccuracies of the course text book, but he had never really taken my words seriously. I think he would start. It's not that I was all about the 'correct history' – it's just that the book sucked.  
  
Professor Martin took the sword eagerly and, as if handling a precious artifact, drew it carefully from it's sheath. The blade shone in the morning sunlight that slanted in through his window. I'd had the absurd compulsion to polish my weapon last night, hoping no one would have to see it's shine. I was glad I had. There would have been nothing more embarrassing that handing over a chipped and ill-cared for blade to my Prof.  
  
"And was that, er, ah," he stumbled on his words and his face grew marginally redder. "... your... first death?"  
  
I shook my head and raised a hand to the back of my neck, trying to massage away the tension that was sitting at the base of my skull. I was starting to get a headache. "Mm. I died in 1718 - fever or something. I dunno. I was sick, and then I was swimming."  
  
That little furrow re-appeared between his shaggy eyebrows. "Swimming?"  
  
I allowed a little mischievous smile to emerge. "Sea burial."  
  
"Ah." He returned his attention to the sword in his grasp. "This is quality craftsmanship - but I see you've shortened the blade."  
  
I raised my eyebrows, mildly impressed. "You know your swords."  
  
"Oh, I was fascinated by them when I was your age..." he looked up at me with wide eyes and I waved the impending apology away. "When I was in University, I mean. Been brushing up since...well..."  
  
"The announcement?"  
  
He nodded. "Mmm. Wanted to be able to recognize one when... if... I saw one." He handed the rapier back to me.  
  
"Well, you got your first one right."  
  
He yanked his eyes away from the sword in my lap and up to my face. "It's remarkable, really... I would never have guessed, if you hadn't... I wonder... may I see...?"  
  
I frowned slightly. "See what?"  
  
"Would you mind..." he wriggled a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the request he was trying to spit out. "I'd like to see the proof..."  
  
The frown blossomed into a full-fledged grimace. "You want me to cut myself?"  
  
He turned his face away, mortified. "Well, no! Well, yes, but... not if you're not comfortable... I'd just like to see."  
  
I continued to glower for a long moment, then sighed. It was only his academic curiosity, I told myself. It wasn't morbid fascination. He wasn't one of the sick suicidal groupies I'd been hearing about on the news. "One-time show only."   
  
He turned his head back when he heard the soft his of me sliding the blade part of the way out of it's sheath. Taking a deep breath I ran the pad of my thumb across the edge and hissed myself when the skin split and the blood welled up. I held up my hand for his to see, and closed my eyes against the small arc of lightening that flashed from one end of the shallow wound to the other, cauterizing the skin and burning away the resulting scar within seconds.  
  
"Amazing," he breathed, and I said nothing.  
  
I sighed again and sank lower into my chair. I sheathed the blade. There was another awkward pause. "So..." I ventured. "You wanted to see me?"  
  
"Hmm?" He looked at me with incomprehension for a second before his face lit up. "Oh! OH! Yes, yes!" He reached over to the other side of his desk and grabbed hold of his computer monitor. Swivelling it around so I could read the screen, he pointed to the head shot of a young man. "I got this resume in the mail last week - an Immortal looking to teach Latin and Greek. The Classics department has an opening, and I was wondering, Ms. Deirdre if... if..."  
  
"If I recognized him?"  
  
He bit the inside of his cheek hopefully. I sat forward and looked closely. Then I sat back with a small dimple of consternation pulling at the corner of my lips. "Yeah, yeah, I know him."  
  
"Oh! That's good. Is he... I mean, what he says he is? Is he ... reliable?"  
  
I shrugged. "I dunno, I never met the guy. But he seems fairly stand-up."  
  
The furrow re-appeared. "Never met him?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah. Weren't you watching the news these past few months?"  
  
"I've been busy writing the midterm."  
  
I shook my head. "You history people always have your noses in books." I reached up and tapped the screen. "This guy is Immortal. He's also famous, sorta. He was the guy who opposed the Visible Weaponry Law."  
  
Professor Martin's eyes got wide and he stared at the screen.  
  
I leaned back into my chair. "This here's Adam Pierson."  
  
~~~  
  
Author's note: Well, there's chapter three. Still, I have no plot plans just yet, so any suggestions would be welcome. I'm just playing this one by year.  
  
Responses:  
  
Laurakkc: Thanks! I try to be original where I can. I've been batting around this idea since the Kalas episode, and wanted to see what would happen to the average Immie (not our Superheros) if Kalas had been successful in his exposure of the Watchers. One of two things could have happened - mass-scale genocide or shoulder-shrugging acceptance. Since other people have already explored the genocide, I decided to try the acceptance. It took me a long time to make up the time line, though. ^_^  
  
canyr12: Of course people would rubberneck. Wouldn't you? (I like the term so much I pinched it for this chapter. Thanks!)  
  
Morgana Pendragon: *wink* Nice to see someone brushed up on their English Mythology. Yes, I agree that I'm intrigued by Ms. Deirdre (no first name yet, I'm working on that,) but I do want to involve the cannon characters as well. All original-characters are inevitably Mary Sues, and I am aware of that... I'm just determined to make Deirdre a GOOD Mary Sue character.  
  
Lileath: Is this soon enough? *wink* Easter is here, and I only have.... Hmmm... about a text book and a half's worth of readings to catch up on for exams...erm... and about six Shakespeare plays...erm... and some Euripides... so MAYBE I'll get to update again soon. *sighs happily* Just two more days of school left... Honours year, here I come!  
  
Gen: Apparently a lot of fans have wondered what would happen if the Immortals were ousted. I mean, it's that the main function of the Watchers? To have all this data to give up to the world once the Game is over? That way people will know what these Immortals did to and for their civilizations. The only difference is that here the technology grew too fast and too well - they had to step forward in order to protect the Immortals. Otherwise, there may have been the mass genocide I was speaking of earlier. I'm glad you think it's fantastic.  
  
Thanks for all the feedback - I'm going to try to make a point of answering all critiques in each chapter. If you take the time to write to me, I will most definitely take the time to answer. Besides, I get to give away little secrets in these things, and that's fun. 


	4. Fanbloodytastic

Chapter Four: Fan-bloody-tastic  
  
October 18th, 2006 - midafternoon  
  
I sat in the coffee shop, clutching the ceramic mug tightly between my hands, my eyes studiously on the text book before me. I could feel the short hairs standing on the back of my neck, which felt oddly vulnerable itself.  
  
I hate being stared at.  
  
The University lounge, Take-A-Break, was more full than usual. I don't doubt the main attraction was me. I had come in after my meeting with Professor Martin, my sword once more strapped to my hip and thigh (damned annoying to go to the bathroom with - I had to unhook the whole bloody contraption before I could even get to the fly of my jeans. And how the Hell would I wear a skirt ever again?) seeking a few hours of peace and quiet and the solace of my Romantic Literature textbook.  
  
Instead I got whispers and gossip and eyes boring into the back of my head.  
  
I'd ordered my chai latte curtly, moved to an empty table in the far back corner, and slung my holster over the back of the overstuffed leather chair. Then I had pulled out my highlighter and tried to concentrate as the gasps of astonishment followed me like badly set dominoes.  
  
I had been here the better part of an afternoon, and was still on "To A Lady."  
  
"Byron was a fucking fop, anyway," I hissed, shoving my highlighter behind my ear and setting aside the mug. My latte had gotten. I stood abruptly and snatched up my sword, holdign it mid-blade, then whirled on my heel to glare at the crowd assembled at the other end of the coffee shop. "Do you mind?" I snapped and many of them jumped. "I AM trying to study. ExCUSEme."   
  
I shoved past them and out the doors, stomping down the hall theatrically. So what if I was throwing a melodramatic hissy fit? I think, by the kind of day I was having, I had the right.  
  
Taking the long way to avoid yet more gawkers, I stalked to the history lounge on the fourth floor of the Humanities wing. It was thankfully empty, save for the ungodly amount of greenery. One or another of the Professors enjoyed plants and the lounge was full of them. There were several patched and donated couches, the inevitable bookshelves filled with tomes I thought could rival me in age, and a chalkboard on which students left notes for each other or strange quotes. Today's was "When life hands you lemons, you clone those lemons, and make superlemons."  
  
In a better mood, I probably would have laughed.  
  
Instead I let my sword fall to the floor and with a snarl of self-loathing, punted it so it skidded underneath a couch. "Stay there!" I ordered it and flopped face-first into the dusty, ratty couch. I was torn between wanted to scream and destroy everything within reach and just sobbing my guts out.  
  
I settled on biting my bottom lip hard to keep me from doing either.  
  
This was so unfair! What was I going to do?! I couldn't get a bloody job in this world without a stupid Bachelor's Degree because of my apparent age, which was why I had decided to do the whole University thing to begin with. But now, with these stupid laws, and stupid people, I probably wouldn't be able to finish.   
  
Not that I really needed a History degree - hell, I'd been there for some of it - but what a shame it'd be if I wasted all the money I'd spent to be here in the first place. I'd already lost the couple thousand bucks I'd put into this new identity when we were handed our Immortal IDs (even though I had used my real name anyway),and I didn't want to loose any more.  
  
"Abby?"  
  
I sat up abruptly with my back to the speaker. "Yeah?"  
  
"Abby, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," I lied, keeping my eyes on the blue sky out the lounge windows. An early Cardinal flew by. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Abby..." his voice was reproachful, and I sagged back against the cushions. I felt the couch shift as Garret sat beside me. Then I heard the intake of breath as he caught a look at my face. "You're bleeding! Abs, your lip..."  
  
I looked down my nose to verify that there was indeed blood oozing from the spot where I had been biting my lip. "Oops."  
  
"Oops nothing," he said and pressed a tissue into my hand. It was crumpled, so it must have been in his pants pocket.  
  
"Don't worry," I said, although my voice was more of a sigh than anything else. "It'll heal."  
  
He paused in his worrying and stared at me.  
  
I snorted. "What, you haven't heard yet? You must be the only one on campus." Finally, I let myself look at Garret. His green eyes sparkled with concern. Garret was a good looking young man, a little older than I appeared to be, with a careless mop of dark hair. I had met him in first year History of the Roman Empire, and he was in the same stream of studies as me. He was, in my opinion, the only true friend I had on campus. I had other acquaintances, of course, other bar-buddies. But of all of them, Garret seemed to be the only one who really understood me, really let me talk – cliche as it sounds, Garret seemed to really give a crap about me as a person, and not as someone whose notes were always gold to score.  
  
I had been wondering since I'd heard the announcement about the Visible Weaponry law the evening before how I was going to tell him. I'd thought of everything from stabbing myself through the gut in front of him to a long letter to casually letting it slip over an informal dinner at McDonald's.  
  
Not once did I think it'd be on the cruddy lounge couches with blood all over my face.  
  
No sooner had I said that the wound would heal than the little flashes of lightning began to arch across my mouth, and the cut was gone. I wiped the leftover blood away on the back of my hand.  
  
"Surprise?" I said softly, my eyes on my knees. The tears came, and it was a surprise. I didn't want them there.  
  
Garret reached out with the tissue and dabbed them away, and I quickly got myself under control. I was more afraid of his anger now that I had been before - would he be mad at me for not telling him? "Joyful Sorrow," he whispered, "I hate seeing you cry."  
  
I pushed his wrist away. "Don't call me that."  
  
"What?" I could hear the teasing undercurrent in his voice. "That's what your name means, Abigail Deirdre."  
  
"Gar..."  
  
"What?" he repeated, shrugging with that 'my horns are holding up my halo' look he sports when he knows he's bugging me.  
  
There was a pause. I took a deep breath. "Gar... I asked you... if you'd heard. If you were... surprised."  
  
His smile faded immediately. He crumpled up the tissue and jammed it in his pocket. "Abby I..." he looked out the window for a second, unsure of what to say, then yanked his eyes back to meet mine. "No, I'm not."  
  
Then he reached down and shoved back the sleeve on his left arm. Slowly he turned his hand over, until I could see the bottom of his wrist.  
  
A black inked tattoo stood out, dark in colour but blindingly blazing all the same. It was a small circle. Within the circle was a stylized T.  
  
"Watcher..." I breathed, and he nodded. "Watcher..." My hands curled into fists without my permission. "My... Watcher?" He nodded again. There was a long, strained silence.   
  
"Abby," he began, but I interrupted him by standing and prowling out the door. "Abby!" he called from behind me. "Abby, you left your sword! ABBY!"  
  
"Fuck you!" I screamed back, and broke into a run, taking the stairs to the ground level two and three at a time.  
  
Well, wasn't this just a fan-bloody-tastic day?  
  
And it got better, too.  
  
The minute I stepped out into the courtyard on the main level that sat nestled between the different wings of the university, I clutched the side of my head and grimaced.  
  
"Well, now," a clipped and sardonic British accent said behind me, and I whirled around to face him, my eyes wide. "Seems we've been popping up everywhere, haven't we?"   
  
The man was six feet at least, probably a bit more. Lean, with grey-blondey-brown hair and penetrating hazel eyes which framed an aquiline nose. An Ivanhoe sword was strapped across his back, and there was a brown leather lap-top carrier in his hand. The other was wrapped around his sword hilt.  
  
As my eyes swept over his frame, he loosened his hold. "Where's your weapon?" he asked softly.  
  
I glared at him.  
  
"It's the law now, you know," he insisted quietly, calmly.  
  
I snorted and looked away.  
  
"I'm not here for your head."  
  
"I know that," I snapped, and he made a disgruntled sound.   
  
He lowered his sword arm and stuck the long-fingered hand in my direction. "Adam Pierson," he said and offered me a slightly lopsided smile.  
  
"I know," I said. I didn't take his hand back. Instead I pointed at the doors I had just come out of. "Professor Martin's office is at the end of the hall, last door on the left."  
  
He blinked, slightly startled. "I see," was all he said. He lowered his arm.  
  
The door in question burst outward and Garret came rushing out, red faced and panting, clutching my sword. "Abby! You forgot--"  
  
I snatched it out of his grip, and fastened the contraption to my hips.  
  
"And you are?" Pierson ventured, sizing up Garret.  
  
"Garret Small," he said and this time the proffered hand was taken.  
  
"Excuse me," I said and turned away with a sneer on my lips. "I have a class to get to. My Watcher will take care of you."  
  
I could hear them speaking, Gar shouting my name, as I walked away. I felt like an ass for being so abrupt, but I didn't want to be there anymore.  
  
Oh yes, this was a fan-bloody-tastic day.  
  
~~~  
  
ANNOUNCEMENT:  
  
I've realized that it would be really bloody cool if a bunch of other people started stories based on my own first chapter, be they about Mary Sues or Larry Lous or Cannon Characters. YOu know, sort of like a collection of short stories that take place all in the same alter-verse. If anyone wants to give it a go, e-mail me, and I'd love to read it and link you. This could be FUN! (Imagine the wonderful Duncan on the UN panels stories, or Amanda can't steal, or the crap that might go down if someone tries to publish Byron or Darius' or Richie's lives.)  
  
Author's Note: The tinniest whisps of a plot are begining to form. Huzzah. I also forgot to mention earlier, this is post "Highlander: Endgame."  
  
Responces:  
  
XWingAce: I will deffinately go hunt-and-destroy-ing for those typos when it's not two in the morning. Thank you. I'm glad that you think the concept is strong - I've been rolling it around in my head for a while.  
  
Kitty2228: I'm glad you like Prof. Martin - he's sortof a sqooshed together version of a couple of my own profs. They say the strongest characters are the ones based on real people. And some of the cannon characters will arrive, some will be major plot characters, some will have cameos. We'll see what happens.  
  
Canyr12: Groupies are fun. I actually have an idea for a sort of "We Love Immortals" group on campus, something with a really stupid acronym filled with really stupid people. ^_^ Someone for Abbs to make fun of. And yeah, I'm aware she's not a very likeable character right now, but cut the girl some slack. She didn't get her morning coffee.  
  
Starcat1: I'm pleased that you say that this is the first really original idea you've seen in a while. I really do strive to be original. Otherwise, what's the point? There's nothing worse than repetative fanfic. 


	5. Interview

Chapter Five: Interview  
  
October 18th, 2006 - midafternoon  
  
The campus bar was open, and I bee-lined for it. I had been sitting in the furthest corner booth for all of five minutes, glaring at but not touching my Mike's Hard Lemonade, when the shadow arrived at and hovered by the end of my table.  
  
For a few seconds I ignored it, then raised my eyes to meet the shadow's. It was Christopher Dart, lucky me. I'd never me the guy, but it was hard to be on campus and not know him. He was the University Newspaper's editor in chief and was not shy about letting people know it.   
  
Forget your 'paper-geek' stereotypes - Dart was smooth and sometimes kinda oily, but always genuinely attentive. He was one of those kinds with khakis and chin fuzz and hooped earrings and newsies caps. I'd met him at a few parties and never really saw him besides. I didn't take me a second to figure out why he was darkening my proverbial doorstep right then - he had a digital camera in his hands and his eyes on my sword.  
  
"Sit," I said, trying to cover the strain in my voice with an air of the casual.   
  
"I'd heard rumours flyin' around campus," he started slowly. "I was kinda surprised to see it was you."  
  
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot today."  
  
"S'cool," he shrugged. "I guess I don't mind it's you. Better than one of the stupid jocks, right?" I fish-eyed him and he attempted a smile, set down the camera and started hacking at the air with his finger. "Can you just see wonna them? 'There can be only one... ooh! Burritos!' The world would be doomed."  
  
"Fought someone like that once," I said, tipping back my head to get a good swig of the sour booze. "Friggin' looser. I did him a favour, taking his head."  
  
Dart paused in his wild gesticulating and dropped his hand to the table top. "Really? What's it like... you know... gettin' the Quickenin'?"  
  
"Is this an interview, Dart?"  
  
He shrugged. "Do you want it to be?"  
  
I thought about it for a moment. "Sure. Why not. My life's pretty much screwed by the stupid VWL anyway. I get to edit it first, though, before you publish."  
  
He nodded and whipped out a convinent pencil and attacked the napkins that ha been left on the table by the people eatign thier dinner before me. "VWL?" he questioned, his eyes still on his scribbling.  
  
"Visible Weaponry Law," I clarified, and he grunted.  
  
"So... the Quickenin'?"  
  
I set down my bottle, now nearly empty, and leaned back into the side of the booth's wall. I crossed my arms over my stomach and repressed a shudder. "It's... it's kinda like pleasure and pain, all at once," I ventured after a moment of thought. "Like the best orgasm you've ever had in your life - only you're hooked up to a street-car cable. You jerk around like a puppet and it's friggin' scary because you're moving and you're screaming, but you're not doing it yourself. The worst part..." I sucked in a breath, then let it out. "The worst part it at the end, when all this other's persons... SHIT... takes over your brain. For a second, for just the briefest flash of a second... you're not you. You're them. And all their memories and fighting techniques and preferences and hates get into your brain and there's this internal battle. The real you is fighting to stay into control and the them is doing the same and in the end ... in the end you assimilate. No, that's not the right word. You... you incorporate them into yourself. They become a tiny part of you, and that's terrifying, because most of the time you killed this person because you didn't LIKE them, and now you ARE them, a little. In the end, there's just a tinnie bit of them inside you... In the end, there can be only one."  
  
I looked up to find Dart staring at me with an open mouth.  
  
"You're catching flies," I said softly. He snapped his mouth shut.  
  
"Whattabout yer sword?"  
  
"I'm not telling you about my sword. I have to keep some secrets. I don't want any Immortal who can pick up a paper to read about my fighting style and sword preference. You might as well sign my death warrant."  
  
Dart shrugged and dragged his eyes back to his napkin to scribble for a second, before looking up and around the booth. "Hey, where's the guy you're always hanging out with? That... Garry guy."  
  
"Garret," I corrected through clenched teeth. "He's... not here. I won't be spending any more time with him."  
  
"Why not?" a third voice cut in, and I felt the buzzing headache sweep through my brain. I didn't bother to look up at him and instead grabbed my Mikes and finished it off. "Don't hold it against the boy. It's his job, after all."  
  
"He lied to me," I snapped.  
  
"You lied to him," Pierson answered back.  
  
I sighed and set my bottle down on the tabletop. "If you'll excuse me, Dart, I have an elsewhere to be."  
  
I rose to my feet, ignoring Dart's bewildered expression and noises, and made to walk around the other Immortal and to the door. He grabbed my upper arm in a surprisingly strong hold and tried to stare me down. I glared right back.  
  
"Unless you wanna start something," I hissed, "I suggest you let go."  
  
"Le me buy you a beer," was his response. Again he attempted the lopsided smile. "If we're going to be on the same campus together, we should at least try to be civil, right?"  
  
"Your interview cant've been that fast."  
  
"Professor Martin is a Groupie - I was in and out and hired like that."  
  
I rolled my eyes. Beside us Dart's gaze was flashing back and forth between my Rapier and Pierson's Ivanhoe. "Whoa, another one?"  
  
Pierson's hazel eyes turned to Dart with a glitter of amusement. "I am Professor Pierson. You are...?"  
  
Dart sprang to his feet and stuck out his hand. "Chris Dart, Editor in Chief of the paper."  
  
Pierson had to let go of my arm to shake Dart's hand. I briefly considered high-tailing it, but by this point in the afternoon I was too worn down to want to. I couldn't keep running until my evening classes, and I didn't want to anymore.  
  
"Ah, did I interrupt an interview?" Pierson asked genially.   
  
"No, no! Please, join us," Dart waved to the seats around us.   
  
"I'll be right back," Pierson said, with a little nod, and strode purposefully towards the bar. Heads turned to follow him, gazes lingering on his weapon, but he paid them no heed and cut through the crowd like a fish among rushes. When he began to walk back with a pitcher and three glasses I sighed and resumed my seat.  
  
He sat himself and poured for the three of us, then took a long satisfied pull from his own glass. "Ah," he sighed, relaxing back into the chair. I silently appraised his physique - solid yet lithe, flexible from the way he seemed comfortable even in these crappy chairs, and from the way he held his beer, ambidextrous. I hoped I never had to fight him. "Food of the Gods."  
  
"Beer is a liquid," I corrected, taking a sip of my own.  
  
"Not in ancient Egypt is wasn't. Had to eat the stuff with a fork."  
  
I eyed him over the rim of my glass. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And how do you know?" I asked, ignoring that Dart was taking this all in like a sponge. "The news said you were a newbie. Less than half a century."  
  
He shrugged and said, "I am."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
I was about to say more when Garret slowly, cautiously, like an uncertain young colt, approached us.   
  
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here!" Pierson crowed and waved him over. An attentive buser brought over a clean glass, and Garret was poured a drink.  
  
"No, we're not." I got to my feet, snatched up my coat, and shoved past Garret without so much as a 'hello'. I was still pissed off at him.  
  
"Abby..." he began, but I kept walking. If he said more, I didn't hear it.  
  
I didn't WANT to hear it.  
  
Garret was my Watcher. Three years he'd been my friend, I'd thought. Three years I'd hung around with a guy you really genuinely seemed to care about what I thought or said or did. Now I knew it was a lie. Now I knew that he wasn't interested, that he didn't CARE - that he was just collection his goddamned data.  
  
Watchers were a bunch of perverted sickos, and I wanted nothing to do with Garret.  
  
I left him standing with his jaw on the floor in the middle of the bar with Dart and Pierson, and ran to catch the bus.   
  
Fuck my evening classes. I was going home. I really, really need to beat on something, and it was between my practice bag or my Watcher.  
  
Practice bags don't whine when you hit them.  
  
~~~  
  
Author's Note: Yikes, what a useless chapter that was. I'll pretend I really meant for it to go nowhere and was using it for character development. Right. That's it.  
  
Responces:  
  
Nancy6: Happy you can see the plot bunnies. They're playing hide and go seek with me. Hey, it's Easter, shouldn't they be giving me a break? And I NEVER make it easy on my characters. You should read "Spider" and "Wolf". If I ever met the real Aishirinu, she'd kill me. And she could, too.  
  
jnp: As I said in my last chapter, I would love to see other stories basded on this fandom - feel free to go ahead. All I ask is that you dont' touch Abby and Garret until they're story is done. But there has to be a ton of other Immies and situations to get them into, right?  
  
frogi: (awesome name!) Glad you're enjoying it. It means a lot to me when people tell me they dislike OCs but enjoy my fics.  
  
Starcat1: I'll admit, I'm a ROG groupie. Of COURSE Adam would be there. 


	6. Confessions

Chapter Six: Confessions  
  
October 18th, 2006- evening  
  
I took a cab home instead. It was easier to deal with one pair of rude eyes than the many that would have been on the bus. Rather than going for my punching bag, I instead chose a good bottle of wine from my fridge and drew a hot bath. I even indulged and used the really expensive perfume in the water.  
  
Pouring glass of the 2002 Pinot Noir for myself I stripped and slipped into the scented water.  
  
So.  
  
That was that.  
  
By the next publishing date, the university paper would carry the interview. Everyone will know I'm Immortal. I wondered how much Dart would make up, or if he would try to find me again to fill out the article - I hadn't told him very much.  
  
And there was another Immie on campus - Adam Pierson. Maybe Dart would go to him instead.  
  
I sank lower in the water, closing my eyes and mentally reviewing what I could remember of the man. I didn't want to have to challenge him, but if it came down to it, it would be better to be prepared than sorry.  
  
He was lithe, ambidextrous, and fought with an Ivanhoe sword (so he probably preferred mediaeval-style hacking and slashing fighting. Did he get that from his teacher?). He had originally been opposed to the VWL, looked like he was in his early thirties, but had to be at least roughly thirty-seven years older than that. He was Welsh according to the accent, spoke Latin and Greek, and if the media had been correct, had masqueraded as a Watcher in the late nineties.  
  
I frowned.  
  
Watchers.  
  
  
  
Buncha peeping Tom sickos with too much time on their hands if you asked me.  
  
That line of thought brought me around to Garret. I clenched my fist around the wine glass in my hand, and heard the glass groaning in protest. What the hell was I going to do about Garret? Three years he'd been my best friend. Three years we had gone almost everywhere together. Done our homework together. Gone to McDonald's and the movies together. Three years I'd told him everything about my current life, the woes of a fictional twenty-one year old girl. Three years.  
  
Three years he'd been writing down everything I'd said and did and ate. Three years he'd probably making copies of all our phonographs and sending them off to some secret organization full of people who dissected my life. For all I knew, these whacks could be jacking off to my pictures.  
  
And, oh god, those times Garret and I had gone to bars together and I'd left with some random one-night stand... did Garret photograph that too? Had he followed me even then?  
  
That thought made me furious. He had no right! NO one had any right to know about my private life! I'd been upset about the idea of Watchers before, but now that I knew I actually HAD one, and one that I thought was a person I could TRUST...  
  
Still dripping, I stormed out of the bathroom clad only in a towel and stomped into the kitchen. I was going to call that goddamned Watcher's Hotline they'd set up so the mortals could report Quickenings and scream at anyone and everyone until I got the head fucking honcho himself. Then I'd find out where the sicko lived and take HIS damn head.   
  
My hand was on the phone's ear piece when my doorbell rang.  
  
I briefly considered not answering it, considering my state of sopping undress, but curiosity got the better of me. "I'll be right there!" I called out, then raced back into the bathroom to pull on my bathrobe. Tying the sash as I hurried to the door, I forced myself to pause and look through the peep hole.  
  
I was glad I did.  
  
There, in the hallway outside of my apartment, scuffing his sneakers against the cheap green carpet, stood the very Watcher I didn't want to see.  
  
"Fuck off, Garret." I turned away from the door.  
  
"Abby, please!" I heard him call out as I pressed my back to the door. "Abby, come on!"  
  
"No! Go spy on someone else you sick peeping Tom!"  
  
"Abby, c'mon it's not like that!"  
  
"GO AWAY."  
  
"NO!" Garret's voice was more determined than I'd ever heard before, and I was unable to suppress the urge to look at him through the peep hole again. His hands were balled into fists at his sides and he was glaring back at me. "Abigail Deirdre, you let me into this apartment or so help me God I will scream so loud that this entire building will know exactly what you did in Milan in October of 1856."  
  
I wrenched the door open, water flying everywhere as I shook with rage. "You wouldn't DARE!"  
  
He opened his mouth and took a deep breath. I shot out a hand and dragged him inside my front hallway and let the door slam behind us. He let out an "eep" and I tossed him, none too gently, at the couch in my living room.  
  
"Sit!" I snarled. "And don't TOUCH."   
  
I left him, wide-eyed and bewildered, in the living room and stomped into my bedroom, which was just off it. Furiously I towled dry, tried to sop as much water from my hair as possible, and threw on a pair of comfortable lounging pajamas. Taking a deep breath I forced myself to look in the mirror. A pair of glittering blue eyes stared back from under a muddle of damp, dark curled hair. My cheeks were flushed, but I couldn't tell if it was from the heat of the bathwater or my anger.  
  
I closed my eyes and forced myself a few more deep, calming breaths.  
  
Yes, I was angry. Yes, I hated the Watchers and I was pissed at Garret for being a Watcher. But it would do no good for me to get so worked up that I chopped off his head. I would get arrested, it what I would get. I let a smile surface for a brief second. I'd also get satisfaction. But I would definitely get 25 years, too.  
  
When I came back into the living room, Garret was sitting in the middle of my sofa, his hands folded on his lap and his eyes on my sword, where I had left it on the coffee table.  
  
"Abby, I'm sorry--" he began, but I held up a hand and he trailed off.  
  
"I'm mad at you," I said pointedly, towering over him. "You knew all this time what I was, and you didn't tell me. I understand that Watchers are supposed to be secret, but the world has known about them... I'VE known about them for almost two years. And you didn't TELL me. I thought we were friends, Garret."  
  
"A friend would have told me about being Immortal," he snapped back, his green eyes glittering with the same rage as I'd seen in my own.  
  
"I didn't need to! You knew!"  
  
"But you didn't know that I knew," he protested.  
  
"What I am is supposed to be a secret!"  
  
"Me too!"  
  
We glared at each other for a short while, breathing heavily and pissed. Neither of us were going to give an inch. I knew that from experience. Heaving a sigh, I plopped down onto the sofa beside him. There was a moment of awkward silence and I could feel Garret's eyes on me. Pah. Let him look - It'd be something for his damned report. He was probably memorizing the exact shade of my pjs.  
  
"This is stupid," Garret finally whispered, breaking the silence. "We're both mad at each other for keeping secrets that we're supposed to keep."  
  
I shifted and crossed my arms over my chest. "I consider your crime worse. Immortals are just trying to live normal lives. Watchers are sick little spies."  
  
He made a sort of choking sound in the back of his throat. "We are not!"  
  
"Oh! Then tell me you don't tell them what I wear and where I eat, and who I fuck?"  
  
"Abby!" I finally looked at him, and was slightly startled by the hurt in his eyes. "Abby, you don't really think that's why we do it, do you?"  
  
"I don't KNOW why you sickos follow us around. The press releases never SAID."  
  
Garret sighed and slumped. "I don't tell the council anything about your ..." his nose wrinkled briefly, "preferences. I don't tell them what you eat and when. You're not an... an experiment, Abs. We... the Watchers follow people to ... to ensure that ... that when the time of the Gathering comes, and the Game ends, the winner is... Is worthy."  
  
I eyed him for a moment. His own gaze was on the cushions between us where he was picking at a ball of fuzz. "What do you mean?"  
  
"The Watchers Council was created thousands of years ago to follow Immortals - if the Prize is really dominion over the World, as many people think, then the Watchers are there to make sure that the Winner is worthy. We don't want so psycho with all that power."  
  
"And how will you make sure of that?"  
  
Garret shrugged. "If there were some scary Immortals, we sometimes leave clues for decent ones to find that will lead them together. Then we hope that the decent one wins. If one's really bad, we sometimes take matters into our own hands. And if the One who wins the Prize is crazy, then we... well, we have contingency plans, and a Watcher for almost every Immortal... the best we can hope is that we get his, or her, head before something really bad happens."  
  
I repressed a shudder and closed my eyes.  
  
"So you're judging us."  
  
"No.... yes, a little."  
  
"... and do I pass?"  
  
I heard his little gasp. "Abs?"  
  
"I asked, 'do I pass', Garret!" I uncrossed my arms and sat up and grabbed his wrist. I turned his arm forcefully until the tattoo that marked us as opposites was visible. "Or are you an your little cronies going to chop off my head if I get too powerful?!"  
  
"Abby, ouch!" he yelped and I let him shove my hand away. I suppose I was stronger than him - I had two hundred something years of sword skills to strengthen my grip. He rubbed his wrist briefly, then raised his gaze to meet mine. "My official statement said that I thought you perfectly capable of winning the Prize if you grew powerful enough, and practised hard enough, and should that be the case, that you would be worthy."  
  
I 'humped' and leaned back. "You really think I'm worthy?"  
  
"I think you're compassionate and intelligent, and despite your mischievous nature you know what you have to do and do it."  
  
I laughed softly, startled by the burning in my throat and eyes. I swallowed hard, trying to force away the tears that were threatening. "Well, I think you're a nosey-know it all and a bit of a prat sometimes... but you're a true gentleman and you're always very nice."  
  
He laughed outright. "I never included in my report what a sarcastic bint you are, but maybe I should!"  
  
"Oh, fan-bloody-tastic," I said, but I was smiling. A few tears did escape, and I wiped at them with the back of my hand. "They'll take my head because I'm too much of a mouth."  
  
"I won't let anyone take your head," he said softly, and I was startled to hear the... the warmth?... in his voice. I turned my head and parted my lips to ask him what he thought he was going to do about it when he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.  
  
Time stopped.  
  
And then it sped up, pulsing in time with my heartbeat and Garret's fervent kisses, and the motions of his tongue against mine.  
  
For a second, for the briefest of seconds, I was happy. I was tempted. I wanted to reach out and wrap myself around him and just tell the rest of the world to fuck off for a few days. But that second passed and I instead pushed him away gently.  
  
"Abs...?" he said softly, his eyes flicking over my face and his lips slightly swollen from the kisses.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm kissing you," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and leaned back in to prove his point. I put a hand against his chest and held him off. "Abs?"  
  
"Garret... why?"  
  
"I've wanted to kiss you since the second I met you, but I couldn't. Watchers can't get involved. But you know now, so it's okay. Abs, I love you. I've known you for three years and I love you."  
  
"I'm an Immortal," I said, confused.  
  
"I don't care. So I'll die before you do. I don't care."  
  
"Or maybe I'll have my head taken tomorrow," I added and he frowned.  
  
"I won't let anyone hurt you."  
  
"You can't get involved."  
  
"I don't care!"  
  
I shoved Garret off me and stood. I rubbed my arms, willing my short hairs to lay back down, and stared at him. "You can't protect me Garret. And I... I don't know if I feel the same way about you. I thought you were... you're just my friend."  
  
"But, Abs!" He stood and tried to grab my hands, but I tucked them into my pockets. "Abs, please... couldn't you tell? I'm in love with you. And now I don't have to hide the truth from you."  
  
I pondered for all of five seconds. Garret was a good kisser. And I had always wondered why he'd never had a girlfriend in the three years I'd known him. But it wouldn't work. I still hated Watchers.  
  
"Get out," I said softly. Perhaps too softly, because I couldn't be sure if Garret had heard me. I didn't want to repeat myself. "Please, Garret. Leave."  
  
"But Abs!"  
  
"I'll see you at school tomorrow. Please leave."  
  
I turned away from him and walked into my bedroom and shut the door. "Abs!" I heard him call out again, then silence. After a few minutes I heard his defeated, "Right... at school," then the click of my front door opening and closing.  
  
I peeked out of my bedroom cautiously, to make sure he had indeed left. My apartment was empty. With a heavy sigh I stripped as I walked towards toe bathroom, leaving my pajamas on the floor, and sank back into my tub of now room-temperature water. Pulling the plug to allow some of the cool water to escape, I took a long pull straight from my wine bottle, then plugged the tub, and ran some more hot water into it.  
  
When it was sufficiently hot enough and I was sweating, I set aside the practically empty bottle and drowned myself.   
  
I wasn't suicidal. It's just that death by asphyxiation always made the muscles in my back relax.  
  
When I awoke a few minutes later, hacking up bubbles and perfumed water, but strangely refreshed, I drained off the rest of the bottle and started to scrub my hair.  
  
~~~  
  
Author's notes:  
  
0_0;; She DROWNED herself? Geeze, even I didn't see that one coming.  
  
Responses:  
  
Jentri: Thank you very much. I've been swamped under final exams, but hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently now.  
  
Starcat1: Please feel free to go ahead with the writing challenge. That goes for everyone! The challenge is "Write a story with this story's first chapter as your first chapter".  
  
Lilaeth: I'm trying to make her very "normal" - it's sort of the point of the story. In the TV show we see all these fantastic thief and boyscout and psycho characters but we never get to see "normal" Immortals.  
  
Daughter1: You're telling me!  
  
Ann: Oh, trust me, "Adam"s not going anywhere!  
  
Kate: Thanks. I'm actually an avid studier of the Mary Sue techniques - I find the Mary Sue phenomenon fascinating. I'm also on the MakeMineMarySue mailing list in Yahoo!Groups.  
  
Amy: Thank you! I really hope the future chapters live up to your praise.  
  
RaMeryt: Interesting name. Sorry I didn't update sooner. Yes, I can seed Adam as a very confident fellow when he's in a situation he knows he can control - his is kinda arrogant. And yes it's optimistic, but I wanted to try something different besides the "Humans Kill All Immortals" AU that most people write. I mean, does no one have faith in the Human Race? We're scared of what's different, true, but in this day and age a lot more has become acceptable to society than ever before (it's legal for gays to marry in my province, YAY!). Don't you believe that Immortals could be accepted as well? 


	7. Snarky

Swordbearer, part 7: "Snarky"  
  
by Vega  
  
October 19th, 2006 - morning  
  
I woke with the sun in my eyes. Then I rolled over and cursed myself for forgetting to draw the blinds in my drunken stupor. It was too damn early to be awake. Of course... fewer people are on the bus this early ...  
  
I groaned at my own twisted logic and crawled slowly from under the covers.  
  
It was an effort, but I managed to get dressed, coiffed, painted, and filled with coffee in time for the 7:40 arrival of everyone's favourite means of public transportation. I was halfway across the parking lot of my apartment building before I remembered that I had to wear my sword on the outside now, and I had to rush back into my place to switch holsters - I had been wearing the one that concealed my rapier in the lining of a thick leather duster.  
  
Booking it back out to the street in time, knapsack on my back and sword in hand, the straps of the hilt guard flapping as I ran, I just managed to slip onto the bus before it pulled away. Nodding my head in thanks to the driver, I plopped my butt down in the nearest seat and sprawled, trying to catch my breath.  
  
It was then that I noticed my plan had worked - there was NO one else on the bus! Yes!   
  
... except the driver.  
  
"So..." he ventured, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror and my reflection in it more frequently than to the road signage. "Immortal, eh?"  
  
I groaned inwardly and sat up straight. I had the option of snapping at the man and moving... but I wasn't really in the mood to be snarky today. I'd had enough of snarky. And I was probably this man's first encounter with my "people".  
  
"Last time I accidentally stabbed myself, yes," I replied, my tone somewhere between snappish and joking. I twisted in my seat and sat up slightly to get the belt of my holster around my hips then squirmed around to get everything buckled up right.  
  
I caught him twisting in his seat, eyeing me, and I smiled. He seemed a bit relieved to realize that I was joking. And I was... mostly.  
  
"So... you're going up to the university?" he ventured after another pause.  
  
"Yup - got classes."  
  
"Oh. You teach?"  
  
"Nope, I attend."  
  
Another glance in the rear-view mirror. "You go to classes? Why? I mean... you probably gotta know a lot, already, right?"  
  
I shrugged. "Why not go? I mean, really, what else could I do with my life? Get a job, earn money? I'm pretty set that way, so I don't need it. I might as well spend the next decade or so perusing a few good books."  
  
The driver's smile had a twinkling in it. "Makes sense, I guess."  
  
As he pulled to the curb to pick up the next passenger, I closed my eyes and cussed. A buzzing headache swept over my consciousness and I slumped back in my seat. Like friggin' daisies, I swear.  
  
"Ah! Ms. Diedre!" Adam Pierson called as he hopped onto the bus, clad in faded jeans and a loose green sweater that had seen many better days. He clutched a traveller's mug of coffee in one hand and his leather carrying case in the other. "I didn't realize we lived so close to each other."  
  
I nodded curtly to him, slightly annoyed that, in all the vast vacancy of the bus, he chose to sit right behind me.  
  
"God bless me," the driver piped up, "Two Immortals on my bus. There are more of you than I thought."  
  
"No, only two in this city," Adam answered back, and I was sort of impressed that he knew that. It meant that he had done his research before moving in. Now I really didn't ever want to fight this guy. "Just me and her, and I'm the newbie."  
  
"Ah," the driver said, and nothing else.  
  
There was an awkward silence and eventually I guessed it was up to me to abate it. "You teaching already?"  
  
"Hm?" He had been lost in thought.  
  
"Your have your briefcase - are they making you teach already? I was under the impression that the Latin Prof's baby wasn't due for at least a month."  
  
"It isn't - I'm going to sit in on her classes, to figure out her style and where they are."  
  
"Ah," I said, making a non-committal and non-comentative sound. We lapsed into silence for another long few minutes.  
  
"So..." Adam turned his piercing gaze to me. "How did your talk with Garret go?"  
  
"Figures you were the one who sent him after me." I felt my expression harden. "It sucked, thankyouverymuch. You shouldn't have encouraged the dumbass little kid. You still act like a fuckin' Watcher - can't keep your nose out of other people's business."  
  
"Well," he grinned at the implied insult, "It is a rather large nose. And Garret may be little, but he's not a kid."  
  
"Compared to us he is."  
  
"And yet age does not always equal maturity."  
  
I clenched my fists in my lap. "Arg! Does nothing phase you?!"   
  
He did that 'relaxed like a cat' thing and turned a smug eye in my direction. "Not really, no."  
  
I chomped on the inside of my cheek for a while, debating for the second time in as many days if I wouldn't just be better off dropping out of school and leaving town. This guy was station to get on my nerves, and although I wasn't one of those Immortals who would Challenge someone just because they were a pest or stupid, I wasn't about to hang around with him if he pissed me off, either.  
  
"Why does everything irritate you?" Adam ventured slowly.  
  
I glared at him. "Well... I just hate being started at. And this bullshit with Garret. And I hate Watchers."  
  
Adam closed his eyes slowly. "That's a lot of things to hate."  
  
"... I guess."  
  
"Does it ever weigh you down?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The hate?"  
  
I snorted. "What, are we getting all philosophical? No, the hate doesn't wear me down. I don't let it. If I did, I would have been ground into the dust a long time ago."  
  
"So, don't you think that these irritations would be worth letting go of to? Garret--"  
  
"Garret is a fucking liar who played me for a sap for three years." I felt like snarling at him, could feel the hot grumbling anger in my chest, but held it in. I'd promised myself this would be a 'snarky' free day.  
  
Adam opened his eyes again, just as we were approaching an upcoming bus stop that had a lot of people waiting. "He's also a young man who's very much in love with you."  
  
As the air-brakes hissed on and the metallic scrape of the bus door being opened rang out, I leaned forward to whisper to Adam, "Love is a figment of desperate people's imagination. My husband taught me that." I stood to move to a different seat, meaning to put a lot of people between us.   
  
He reached out and grabbed my wrist, and I was only slightly stunned to feel how warm and large his thin hand was. "Love, and the remembrance of love, is the only thing that makes Immortality worth it. That's something my wife taught me."  
  
"Then you're a romantic old fool," I hissed and freed myself, "You're going to end up losing your head over a girl. Literally."  
  
The pulled away from the curb, and I moved to the back of the bus and stared steadfastly out the window to avoid all the people staring at me. That didn't make the feel of his hazel eyes boring into me go away.  
  
Author's note:  
  
Sorry about the delay between posts, and the short chapter. I've been in Egypt for the past month, doing some on-site research for my novel. Okay, and I went to the beach, too. But I'm back, so we'll see if this thing picks up some speed...  
  
Reviews:  
  
TT: I hope this chapter was just as pleasant as the others. Electronic reader? That's so cool! I wonder if sounds like me at all (I'm a Voice Actor)  
  
Lili: I hope I will update soon. We'll see - I sort of have to wait for the juices to start flowing again, I've been away from it for so long.  
  
Morgan Pendragon :Why should I tell you if they find out he's Methos ! That's spoiling it!  
  
Alynna: Thank you, and I hope so too. I have an idea for the plot, we'll just see if it works itself into being.  
  
Jentri: Heh! Thanks for pestering. It's the only way I get stuff done. 


	8. Phoey

Swordbearer: Part Eight "Phoey"  
  
by Vega  
  
October 19th, 2006 - Morning  
  
I by-passed the coffee line once more and headed straight for the lecture. Not at a run, but fast enough to pass people around me. The sword was still strapped to my hip, but I carried my coat over my arm on that side so it hung down and hid it.  
  
I had been the first to exit out of the rear door of the bus when it had reached the stop at the University, and I had not waited to meet Adam. I wasn't MAD at him, I just... I just didn't want to DEAL with it. With anything.  
  
It was all just too damned complicated.  
  
I entered the lecture hall to find Professor Martin, as usual, pawing through and ungodly amount of over-heads. I slipped into my seat and pulled out my notebook as quietly as possible, hoping he wouldn't hear me over the rustling of the plastic in his hands.  
  
My plan worked and he remained oblivious to my presence for a good few minutes, before the door clattered open and the same group of girls who had been talking to him yesterday morning entered. Upon seeing me, they began to whisper and giggle, (annoying!) and point.   
  
I watched, giving them a slight glare that I hadn't used since I was newly Immortal and unaccompanied and alone by a fire place in a tavern full of stupid lusty men - a "don't think that just because I'm outnumbered I can't kick your ass, dick" look.  
  
I was mildly impressed - MILDLY - when one girl got up the guts to flip her hair over her shoulder and approach me. I glanced briefly down at Prof. Martin, who was watching us with keen interest in his eye. Oh, fabu - no help from the peanut gallery.  
  
"Um..." she began, and oh-so-eloquently at that, "Are you... you're Abigail Deirdre, aren't you?"  
  
"No, I'm another Immortal who just happens to go to this University." She blinked and I sighed. Sarcasm was just lost on some people. Honestly. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Um," she said again, obviously gathering her thoughts. I wondered how long it would take to get a hold on so little. "I'm Miranda, and, um, I'm the president of Phoey."  
  
I knew my eyebrows had to be somewhere around my hairline. "Phoey?"  
  
"Yeah, um, Phoey. Eff - Oh - Eye."  
  
"Phoey," I repeated again, unsure. "OH! F.O.I."  
  
"Yeah," she smiled, a blindingly vapid show of little pearly teeth. "Friends of Immortality."  
  
I suppressed a groan. I had heard of FOI and had purposefully steered clear of it - it was a bunch of Immie loving wackados with more Peeping Tom tendencies than the Watchers, as far as I was concerned. From what I heard more than half of the club had committed suicide together in a hope to trigger latent Immortality. None of them had revived.  
  
The rest had sworn to devote their lives to Duncan McLeod's ideals - the preservation of peace and harmony between Immortals and Mortals alike .They held Watcher-Journal readings in coffee houses and petitioned to have text-books changed and there was even a riot in a nearby town when several members had attempted to stop a Challenge from happening. One of the members ended up getting severe electrical shocks and had to be taken to the hospital.  
  
"Yes, I've heard of you," was the most polite comment I could think up.  
  
Her eyes lit up. "You have?!" I nodded. "Well, we thought that you... could, um, come to our... um... meeting tonight to you... you know... talk about it."  
  
"It?" I was growing more unimpressed by the second. I almost would have rathered have Adam Pierson glaring at me from the other side of the bus again. She nodded. 'No' was on the tip of my tongue. 'Fuck off' was a bit further back, somewhere around the middle of my tongue. And 'what the fuck is wrong with all you pervy little wierdos!?' was making a lump in my throat.  
  
I smiled thinly, attempting to appear all friendly and non-threatening like, and managed to choke out -"Sure, when and where?"  
  
Because, you know... world peace and all that shit.  
  
She handed me a pre-printed business card - good GOD they had CARDS?! - and then turned and ran back to the safety of her numbers with a hurried "Thank you. See ya tonight!"  
  
I stuffed the card into my jeans pocket and slumped down on my chair.  
  
Luckily the lecture hall filled up and Prof. Martin began his speechifying well before I had thought up any suitable way to tell them I had changed my mind. Luckily for them, that is.  
  
I noted only briefly that Garret Small was not in lecture today.  
  
I ran into Adam in the courtyard again, and it was mostly empty. I had a spare and so, apparently, did he, so I gulped down my pride and annoyance and accepted his invitation to coffee in his office. I was surprised to see how much crap he had already moved in, and when I mentioned it, he winked and said he'd had some stuff in storage for a while, and had had it shipped to the school this morning.  
  
Again I got the sneaking suspicion that maybe Adam Pierson was not as young as he claimed to be, but I didn't press the issue. We all had our reasons.  
  
The coffee was mistrustfully good - much better than the school usually had, and he confessed that he preferred to grind his own blend of beans by hand. At first we started talking about the usual Immortal stuff - our opinion of the Prize, our ages, where we'd been and if we'd popped up in history at all.  
  
Eventually the topic turned to Watchers.  
  
"You were one, weren't you?"  
  
Pierson, who had been refilling both our mugs, paused. "Yes," he finally said, "I was."  
  
"Before or after your First Death?" I accepted my now-full mug back and settled back into my seat as he returned to his seat on his own plush office chair and put his feet up on the desk.  
  
"Before. I was actually killed by a stray bolt of lightning from a Quickening I was Watching. Irony of Ironies, eh?" He took a deep pull off his cup and sighed, doing that no-bones-cat-lounge-thing I had noted earlier in the bar.  
  
"Yeah. Adam, can I ask you... What do Watchers DO?"  
  
"They Watch." His lip curled in amusement of my sudden bristling annoyance. "Geeze, relax. You're as wound up as a violin string."  
  
"Well, I've had a stressful few days," I snipped, running a hand through my hair and setting down my mug on his desk.  
  
Adam set down his own mug and stood, coming around the desk. He moved behind me and placed his large warm hands gently on my shoulders, which made me slide my hand down to the hilt of my sword.  
  
"You don't trust anyone, do you?"  
  
"In a world full of people who either want to stare at me or kill me? No–ooooohhhh." His thumbs began to press against the knots in my traps and rub in circular motions.  
  
"What about the other 99% of the people," he prompted, continuing his massage. "The ones who aren't Watchers and don't want your Quickening?"  
  
I couldn't form a coherent response, even if I wanted to.  
  
He chuckled to himself and lifted his hands away from my back. I reached up and grabbed his wrist - "I never told you to stop."  
  
"You didn't answer my question about the other 99%"  
  
I turned in my seat to look him in the eyes - they were sparkling with mischief. "YOU didn't answer MY question about Watchers."  
  
"Watchers... gather information," he began slowly, tracing the pad of his thumb around the pulse point of his wrist, where I could see the faint tracings of where his tattoo much have been once, before his Immortality began to eradicate all the 'defects' in his body like it always did.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Well, if the... many Immortals think that the Prize is, you know, to rule over the world or some such rubbish. If that's the truth, then the Watchers want to... to manipulate it so that the one who wins won't be... well, a complete and total wanker."  
  
I paused, chewing on my bottom lip as I chewed on his words. He had unknowingly paraphrased Garret's answer from the night before.  
  
So did this mean... that was the truth? That Watchers haven't been sticking their depraved little noses into my life for the past few centuries, and had only paid enough attention to me to figure out whether or not I'm one of the 'bad guys'?  
  
".. .um," I said softly, and hated myself the second it crossed my lips. I sounded like Miranda, the ditz president of FOI. Which gave me a nasty idea... which I would use in a moment. Watchers first. "So, there's' no photos of me around in compromising positions, and, live, no one's collecting my dirty underwear and used band-aids or anything sick like that?"  
  
Adam laughed - "Maybe! Depends on how through your Watchers have been. However, I can assure you that none have pried into your private life nor have they witnessed anything that is not for public consumption. Watchers don't go inside houses, and they don't root through garbage."  
  
Well - I felt at least a little comforted.  
  
"Right then," I said, releasing his wrist. "You may continue your massage."  
  
He rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Mmmmm. Heaven. "Now your turn. What about the other 99%?"  
  
I shrugged. "Indifferent, I guess."  
  
"Even to Garret?"  
  
I tensed up. "Yes, even to Garret. Well, this has been a pleasant visit, but I must be goiningnowthankyou." I got to my feet and collected my things and turned to find Adam blocking my door.  
  
"The boy loves you," he said.  
  
"I have absolutely no requited feelings whatsoever," I answered, feeling the anger rising. I wasn't quite sure if it was a lie, or not. Right now I wasn't willing to think about it.  
  
"Well, then, I have no qualms about this--"  
  
Before I knew it I had dropped my bag out of shock and his hands were on my elbows and his lips on mine. The kiss was not as time-stopping as Garrets had been the night before, but still gave me that fuzzy balloon-head feeling. When we parted I jammed a small rectangle of paper in his hand and ducked quickly under his arm to scoop up my bag and zip out the door.  
  
As I ran down the hall, unsure of these strange new emotions I was feeling - shouldn't I be annoyed at the smug git? - I snickered to hear Adam's raised voice calling "What's a Phoey?"  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Gaah! New job and lack of inspiration has made this chapter long in coming, and I apologize.  
  
Reviews:  
  
Lili - Sorry it wasn't updated sooner. Maybe the next chapter will be more forthcoming. Do you have any idea how hard it is to write a decent chapter in decent English when you spend all day teaching English to ESL students? Gah!  
  
MorganaPendragon: Lovely name. All in one sitting? Didn't you cramp up? Glad I'm on your fave's list, thanks. As to wether or not they'll ever find out he's Methos.... I actually don't know. If I have my way, no. But my characters sometimes get minds of their own.  
  
Alynna: I hope there's more soon too! I'm really just playing with this on a chapter-by-chapter basis. I sort of know what the ultimate outcome will be, but I have no idea how far away that is. Hopefully more than thirty chapters, if I can swing it. I love long fics like that, myself, when they're worth it.  
  
Jenetri: I never 'not finish' my stories! I just... um... let them sit for a while... like, erm... "Solitare" and "Jisedai". They're not ABANDONED so much as just... I'm waiting for the plot bunny to come back and play with me again.  
  
Ovo: Um... thanks? Thanks. I will be proud when the plot actually starts going somewhere.  
  
Village-Mystic: I appreciate deeply one who reviews every chapter. I love all of your suggestions and may use some - except making Matthew the FBI agent a PR wrangler... he's dead, remember? Yes, I agree that Abby's getting a bit heavy and moody - I intend on having a slow upward slide to normalacy once she gets over her damned self-consciousness. As for Adam's flirtiness - yup. Flirt flirt flirt. laughs at the Jack-Ass Idea PLEASE SOMEBODY WRITE THAT!! I don't really plan on adding to many other mainstream characters, except maybe in cameos. I don't really want this to be a Mary-Sue that way. I just want it to be a different story in the same universe. But HOW could I leave out the ROG?  
  
Name1: Squeal away!  
  
Rihw: I'll update whenever my bunny comes back. Got a carrot?  
  
TheWreched87: This soon enough? And lovely bizarre name... 87 people are a lot of wretched people.  
  
Ridea: I would LOVE TO SEE THAT FIC! I've been trying 


	9. Meeting

Swordbearer by Vega  
  
Part Nine: "Meeting "

October 19th, 2006 - evening  
  
"What am I doing here?" was the first thing to pop into my head as I surveyed the room. It was a small meeting hall in the University, about the size of a seminar room. It was boring, grey, and held a scattering of maybe two dozen people in chairs and twice as many empty ones.  
  
Miranda greeted me, very very cheerfully, at the door, and I shook her hand and said all the nice things you're supposed to say while glaring at people who were open-mouthed staring at my sword.  
  
Good god, is this what a man with his dick hanging out feels like?  
  
I slid into a plastic chair closest to the door and eyed the table in the far corner with the piles of deserts. It was a tough call. I could stay in my seat and be relatively un-harassed, or I could attempt to cross the room for the chocolate and probably be gabbed at the whole way there.  
  
I as about to try going under the chairs when Miranda called the meeting into order and introduced me. There was a great roaring bout of applause and cautiously took the podium. The projector screen behind me was pulled down and images were flashed onto it - images of me.  
  
"What the fuck?" I said, and jumped when my electronically enhanced voice repeated that to the assembled room. "Er, sorry. What's this?"  
  
The picture of me standing in line at Tim Hortons switched to one of me accepting a Challenge last year (the girl was a total bitch and I don't feel the least bit guilty for taking her head), and me in the throes of the Quickening.  
  
"Turn that off!" I hissed and it was quickly shut down.  
  
I glared over the podium a the assembled faces.  
  
"They're just pictures," Miranda began but I cut her off.  
  
"Just pictures of me at my most secret and vulnerable and intimate moments. Give that reel of slides here." After a few seconds hesitation, Miranda did and I tossed it up into the air. The assembled crows gasped in awe as I unsheathed my sword and slashed at the reel enough times to make sure the slides hit the ground in little pieces.  
  
There were groans as well as a spattering of applause.  
  
"You're all sick," I said, which stopped all sound. You could have heard a pin drop. Miranda had tears standing in her eyes, but I didn't care. "I thought Watchers were bad enough, but you kids are just sick. Get fucking lives."  
  
I turned to storm out and Miranda dashed to the door and headed me off. "Please!" she said, "Don't go! At least tell us... is anybody here a Pre-Immie?"  
  
I stared at her with undisguised horror. "No one," I said, after scanning the crowed quickly. "Not one of you."  
  
Her face fell, as I'm sure her heart did to. I sighed, shook my head, and re-mounted the steps up to the podium. "Listen, all of you," I said, my hands fisted at my sides. "Being Immortal is not some glorious power trip thing. You all long for Immortality, why? 'Cause you're scared of death? Lemmie tell you, to BE immortal, you have to die first - so what's the point? And yeah, dying HURTS. Hurts like a bitch. But the Quickening hurts more. Re-awakening hurts the most. What would you do with immortality, huh? Same boring stuff you do on a rainy afternoon? Immortality is not about daring jewel thefts and passionate lovers and knowing every book that was ever written. Mostly it's about finding somewhere you think you may be able to be even remotely happy for a decade or so and trying really hard not to want to take your own head when you realize that everyone and everything that ever meant ANYTHING to you are dead and gone and most times not even remembered!"  
  
I paused, my breath coming in hitched sobs.  
  
"If I had the choice, I wouldn't be what I am. I would rather have died when my body was tossed into the Atlantic - but I didn't. The only reason I haven't given up my head to someone worthy is because , like you, I'm fuckin' scared to die."  
  
I heard the door snick shut and looked over through the wobbly shimmer of tears at Garret standing with his back to the entrance and his hand on the knob. His eyes were wide and his mouth hanging open.  
  
"There's no such thing as love when you're Immortal," I plowed forward, addressing the crowd, but keeping my eyes on Garret. I'd kill Adam later for tipping him off. " 'Till Death Do Us Part' is romantic, but it's only for those who'll die. Mortals have it easy - their lives are fleeting and meaningful. But us - we just keep going, and going, we become nothing more than what we already are . Just more so. Immortals don't change, we don't grow, we don't realize how precious life and love can be because it's not threatened for us. Immortal relationships seldom last beyond a century because it gets boring. And if you're with a mortal, then it gets too painful to watch them wither away. There is nothing glorious, romantic, or endearing about suffering through eternal life."  
  
I turned my eyes back to the gap-jawed crowd. "And that's all I have to say to you ninnies. I suggest you all go home and make love to the person who means something to you, 'cause you may get hit by a bus in the morning."  
  
I stalked off the stage and past Garret, and out the door. "Abby wait," he began slowly, but I ignored him.  
  
I did my best to stifle the tears that were streaming down my face, but it wasn't working. I wasn't looking where I was going and was concentrating on the headache that the crying was giving me that I didn't feel the warning buzz until I'd bashed right into the other Immortal.  
  
"Jesus, I'm sorry," I said and backed up to look in his face. Instead I was grabbed and held against a warm, hard chest in an affectionate embrace.  
  
"Shh, shhh," he said softly, and I recognized Adam's voice, "it's okay. What's got you in a knot?"  
  
"I'm just... I'm so sick of all this bullshit." I sniffled. "They had pictures of me, Adam. In the middle of a Quickening!"  
  
"That's not cool," he crooned. "I'll get them."  
  
"I already destroyed them, but they... erg... people like that drive me bonkers!" I buried my face further in his sweater and he didn't seem to mind. "They don't understand that it's not all parties an champagnes and hurrahing the New Millennium over and over. It's HARD. And it HURTS."  
  
Was hugged more tightly. "It's okay, Abby, we understand, don't we? I'm here."  
  
I felt his chin nudge my forehead, and I looked up. His lips descended and I welcomed the kiss for the comfort and contact it provided. When I heard the panting breaths and slamming footsteps coming towards us quickly from down the hallway I broke away from Adam and turned...  
  
... to see Garret come to a complete standstill.  
  
"Garret," I said softly, but he shut his mouth and shook his eyes an took a step backwards.  
  
"No, no," he said and forced a smile. "It's okay - I'm sorry to intrude. I... goodnight, Abby." He turned on his heel and walked back the way he came with tense, measured steps. When he had vanished around a corner, I felt Adam's hand on my shoulder squeeze slightly.  
  
"Let's go get drunk, eh?" he said, "Nothing makes you feel better than beer."  
  
"Alcohol is a depressant."  
  
"But the company always makes up for that."  
  
I accepted his proffered arm, but kept my eyes on my feet as I walked with him out to his car.  
  
I had been waffling about what to do about the romantic advances from both Garret and Adam - I guess I had just made up my mind.


	10. Bad Replacements

Swordbearer by Vega  
  
Part Ten: "Bad Replacements"  
  
October 19th, 2006 - night  
  
"What a pathetic excuse for a jazz bar," Adam sighed as we walked into a place called 'The Double Olive'.  
  
"This is the most expensive martini bar in the city," I corrected as we made our way to an empty loveseat in the corner. A local band was playing something hot, heavy, and bluesy, and there were several gyrating couples on the dance floor.  
  
I recalled a time when I danced like that with men - it was the 1940s and the hemlines just kept rising. My fencer's legs looked fabulous in those itty bitty heels and a loved the bright red lipstick.  
  
I wondered what Adam had been doing then, until I realized that he was still mortal in the 1940s.  
  
Had he fought in the war then? He said that he had suffered his first death by being electrocuted by a Quickening; had he been a Watcher for a soldier? Had he seen any battle? Or had he been too young? How old HAD he been, anyway?  
  
I realized as I let him order a beer for me that I knew practically nothing about this Adam Pierson beyond the fact that he was Immortal, had been a Watcher, an spoke Latin. Garret on the other hand... Garret I had been friends with for three years, and though I hated his keeping his real job from me, I was station to miss him.  
  
Even though Garret had been my Watcher, I think he had also really been my friend.  
  
As we waited for the waitress to return I turned to watch Adam. He was observing the couples on the dance floor with a look of detachment. It was that "I'm-in-flashback-mode" look that every Immortal has every once and a while.  
  
He sighed a name, "Alexa", and I think he thought I couldn't hear him. 'Alexa', huh? Who was Alexa?  
  
"So you've been in better Jazz bars?" I prompted quietly, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking of Garret when I was with Adam. We were both Immortals. We had both lost friends, and lovers, and if he was remembering this 'Alexa' with sadness, then I felt obligated to make him feel happier.  
  
Right now we were two people in the middle of a crowd who were very much alone.  
  
Adam sighed and shifted on the sofa, reaching behind him to undo his back holster and lay his sword on the small coffee table in front of us, then reached over and helped me do the same with my hip holster. "There's this place called 'Joe's' in Paris. I used to know the owner - great guy. Good Watcher. Best Jazz ever. Best beer too."  
  
"He was a Watcher?"  
  
"We worked together. That's how I met Mac."  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod - Joe was his Watcher."  
  
"So you know Duncan MacLeod, eh?" I mused. "What's he like?"  
  
Adam laughed gently. "A big old boyscout. I knew he'd end up in it to his elbows when everyone found out about us. He always tries to make everything 'fair.' Stopped it from happening in the early nineties, actually. This loser named Kalas nearly exposed us all."  
  
"I had no idea."  
  
"That's the scary part of it. None of us ever knew how close we were to being hunted down - Kalas had stolen a Watcher's data base disc and if things had gotten out the way he wanted them to, there would have been no question... it would have made the Salem Witch Trials look like kids squishing bugs."  
  
I took all this in, chewing on my lip absently. "Did you know... you said you were in Paris... in the early nineties..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Did you know this guy named Darius?"  
  
Adam stiffened slightly before letting out a great gust of breath and a low, mirthless chuckle. "I guess Darius knew everybody."  
  
"What..." I started slowly. "Who took his head? I found out... found the... the.... but I never figured out who did it. I wanted to kill them so badly but then, Darius... he ... he just wanted us all to get along, and he would never have condoned it. So I let it go."  
  
"It was Horton," Adam said, and the name was spat like a curse. "A rogue Watcher - a real bible thumper. Thought we Immortals were demon spawn and all that shit and needed wiping out. He got to Darius... Darius refused to protect himself."  
  
I clenched a fist on my thigh.  
  
I had met Darius during sixties in Paris. I had been high and cynical and bitter with life and was looking for someone to chop off my head. I had been roving the city, hoping to find any Immortal at all, and kept chasing after a buzz that tingled on the peripheral of my senses. It eventually lead me to a church, and I followed the mystery Immortal in.  
  
There he had stood, clad in a monk's robes, his hands folded and his dark head bowed. There was a peaceful, gentle smile on his lips, even as I pulled my sword from my sheath and handed it to him on bended knee.  
  
"Please," I had said.  
  
"No," he had replied. And I had been amazed.  
  
He took me in, cared for me for a few weeks, until I was dry and sober and ready to face the world again. He had told me that I was always welcome, that I always had a friend and confident in him. Once or twice I had gone back to take advantage of his hospitality, but not often.  
  
Once I had killed another Immortal that was out for him before the guy could even get onto the church's property. And when I had found out that he had been killed, I had searched for months for a sign, a trace, a clue, anything. I had found nothing. So I had moved to Canada and become a student and invested myself in a life that I thought Darius would have been proud of.  
  
I screwed my eyes shut briefly to ward away a headache. "Tell me someone got Horton."  
  
Adam nodded sagely. "Mac got him. Mac got him good."  
  
"Good."  
  
The waitress returning with our beer killed any further conversation along this vein, and we were both amused to see that she skittered nervously around the table where our swords lay, as if they were going to swing up and attack her all on their own.  
  
We listened to the band in amiable silence as we sipped our beers. Well, he chugged, I sipped.  
  
He set down his empty bottle and sprang to his feet and held out his hand.  
  
"A dance, milady?" he asked, and I threw back the rest of my beer and took his offer. We whirled out onto the dance floor just as the band struck up a swing number and man oh man did it feel good to dance like that again.  
  
Adam was a fantastic swing dancer and he just whipped me along, faster and freer than I had been in a while. It felt damn good to laugh - I hadn't really done that since the VWL announcements had come out several months earlier. When the dance ended with a heated kiss and applause from all around us, I didn't even mind.  
  
Flushed, wind-blown, and happy, Adam and I celebrated the dance with two of the stiffest martini's the bartender could make and wound our way back to our loveseat, where our swords were waiting, untouched.  
  
"You two were awesome!" I young male voice said and we turned to find the singer for the band in a seat at our side. The band was on break. "Immortals, huh? Did you swing like that back in the days?"  
  
"I did," I chuckled, "Adam's too young though, aren't you?"  
  
"Naw!" he laughed, "Just old enough to sneak into the bars."  
  
"Lemmie buy you a drink," the boy said, and we let him. Over sour apple martinis he told us how wonderful it was to see real swing-dancers going at it on the floor and expressed a wish to have a 1940s big band crooner to show up one day, a real Immortal who played in the 1940s, to show him how it was done.  
  
"I'll look up Chuck," Adam said, "Send 'em your way. You've got talent, kid. Real talent. He likes real talent."  
  
The boy thanked us heartfeltly and took off to do another set.  
  
"You sure get around," I mentioned when the band had started back up. "Watchers, MacLeod, Darius, this Chuck guy. For being a relative newbie, you sure know a lot of people and have done a lot of stuff."  
  
Adam winked at me over the rim of his glass. "Maybe I'm lying to the world and I'm really five thousand years old."  
  
"Phsaw," I said and waved my hand at him. I wasn't entirely sober at this point. "I've met Methos, and you aren't him."  
  
He choked briefly on his drink. "You've met Methos?"  
  
"Yeah, 'bout this tall, short blonde hair, looked about forty. Kinda looked like Ron Pearlman, now that I think about it. Good guy. He was spreading this whole... love thy neighbour sort of thing. I heard some guy got him, though. Makes me sad. He was a wise man."  
  
"Yeah, and Richie got that guy," he hissed under his breath. "It really is a pity that Methos is dead. I wonder who's the oldest living Immortal now..."  
  
"Vlad Draculea," I said impishly, and he shook his head.  
  
"Vlad's only 500 or so - I know older. Amanda Monterose is at least a thousand."  
  
"There is a real Dracula?"  
  
"He's Immortal, yes. Who do you think wrote the novels?"  
  
I gave Adam a 'duh' look. "Bram Stoker."  
  
"Uh-uh. VLAD wrote them. He was calling himself Stoker at the time."  
  
"You're shitting me."  
  
"Nope."  
  
The rest of the night passed in equally meaningless yet pleasant conversation, and sometime around Last Call I called Adam a cab and walked home alone. I think he may have been disappointed that I chose not to go home with him, but ...  
  
... well, I had been thinking about Garret all night.  
  
As much as I enjoyed Adam's company... I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him.  
  
But I wasn't sure if I was attracted to Garret either. Even if I was, it was probably too late.  
  
My hands shoved in my pants pockets and my sword clanking dully against my leg as I walked, I made my way home, my heart heavy and cold.  
  
Even though I had enjoyed my evening out... today had not been a very good day.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Welcome back! Sorry for the long delay - I've been very busy lately with teaching and preparign to write my honours thesis and rehearsing for the film I'm in. Just to source a couple things in the last few chapters - most references (like the 'Dracula' thing) are from a novel little book titled "An Evening At Joes", which is a WONDERFUL compilation of fanfiction written by the cast and crew of Highlander. I deffinately recommend it.  
This chapter was also written for Sarah, from my Short Story class last year, 'cause I haven't seen her all summer and what's more fun than a drunk, flirty ROG?  
  
I'm not replying to reviews right now because I've forgotten where I've left off and there's just so damn many. I really appreciate everyone's feedback still, and am really looking forward to hearing more. You guys have no idea how much your feedback fuels my plotlines. Really, it does. 


	11. Beep

Swordbearer 

Chapter Eleven : "Beep"

* * *

October 20th, 2006 - very early morning

It took me about an hour to make my way home. If any muggers thought about jumping me, I'm sure they changed their minds when they saw the rapier hanging off my hip. I guess that was a bonus to the pain in the ass that the VWL was. I actually kind of wished someone WOULD attack me. I had a lot of adrenaline left over, the kind that I needed to waste on either a fight or a fuck. I also had a lot of stupid left over too, from the martinis.

I'd had what... four? I couldn't remember. And a beer.... or two? God bless the Immortal healing factor. I was sober by the time I reached the front door of my apartment building, and fresh out of stupid. It was good that I hadn't been accosted on my way home. I probably couldn't have defended myself worth beans. That, and if the guy had been remotely hot, I probably would have jumped him.

God, WHAT was I going to do about Adam and Garret?

I banged my head repeatedly against the wall of the elevator door on my way up to my floor.

Okay, so I'm not a slut or anything, (although I was a whore for a bit when I was hard up for finances. But, c'mon, what's a girl to do in the middle of the Industrial Revolution when she's jobless?), but I enjoyed sex just as much as the next healthy adult female.

Actually, I had a theory that Immortals had higher sex drives due to our perpetual youthfulness and prime-of-life-ness, but I'm sure someone else who cared more had already written a paper in an academic journal about it.

So yes, if I didn't have this dilemma with Garret, perhaps Adam and I would be boinking like bunnies. And maybe if Adam wasn't here, it'd be Garret I'd be wearing out.

Unfortunately, both my heart and my libido were walking a tightrope between my best friend and the person who had just breezed into my life. I would give that the person who had just breezed into my life understood me and my Immortal tendencies far better than any mortal could... but Garret had been by my side for the last three years and knew ME.

I jammed my key into the lock on my front door, slammed it open, then kicked it closed.

I tossed both my sword and my keys onto the coffee table on my way past the living room to the answering machine. The red light was blinking, telling me that I had messages.

I plopped down in my armchair, toeing off my boots and running my fingers through my wind-blown hair as I listened.

**Beep** _Hey... Abby... it's, uh... Garret. Um. I guess you're ... out with... uh, Prof. Pierson. Just... uh... call me, okay? I mean... I guess I ... I've been a bit of a jerk. I mean, I guess I should have told you - but, you know, you KNOW, I wasn't allowed to. So I... I guess you're mad at me. And I guess you're... out... with him. Doing... whatever it is that... Immortals do. Aw, fuck me. Call me, you dumbass, okay? This is bullshit._

I sat back and stared at the ceiling. A little more blunt that usual for Garret, but effective nonetheless. This WAS bullshit. I was mad at him for him keeping secret what he was supposed to keep secret. He was mad at me for not trusting him with the secret I was supposed to keep secret. What was I doing, treating him like some sort of traitor?

Okay, so I'd been hurt. I'd been scared too. I've never liked the idea of watchers. It terrified me to think that I had one - and that he was the person I thought I could trust the most. I'd felt betrayed. After speaking to both and Garret about Watchers, I still am not entirely comfortable with it. But it was a fact of life now, wasn't it? Along with Immortal IDs, Formal Combat Areas, and the VWL.

I'd just have to suck it up.

The answering machine beeped again and I turned my attention back to it.

**Beep** _Abigail? It's Professor Martin. Er - call me? I heard about F.O.I. I'm sorry. If I had known... anyway, there's some stuff I'd like to hash out with you for next week, if that's okay. Guest lectures and stuff, if you're interested. Get back to me tomorrow, or catch me after class Monday. My number's on the syllabus._

I snorted to myself. Guest lectures, eh? Why the Hell not. Cant've been worse than the F.O.I meeting. And by the way, thanks for reminding me. Like I really WANTED to remember the disaster that was the F.O.I. meeting.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. What the FUCK had that been about? FREAKS.

**Beep** _Abs? It's Adam._

He sounded totally wasted. He must have called as soon as he got home. It occurred to me that I didn't remember giving him my phone number, but hey, he was a prof and an ex-Watcher. He probably had access to that sort of thing through data bases and stuff.

I made a mental note to call Bell Canada in the morning and change my number.

_I had a nice time tonight - really nice. I want to cook you dinner. Tomorrow night. That being Saturday. Call me? 905-682-6532. Sweet dreams._

"Well, fuck me," I said to the ceiling.

What to do, what to do...

I decided to worry about it in the morning. I was bone-tired and really just wanted those Sweet Dreams Adam had wished me.

* * *

I slept lightly and late into the morning.

Sometime around noon I finally hauled my butt out of bed and into the shower. My teeth and my tongue felt fuzzy and my throat felt like sandpaper. As I scrubbed the shampoo through my hair I made a mental list of what needed to be done today.

I needed to call Prof. Martin about these 'guest lectures'. I had a paper I needed to finish for my Romantic Literature class on Lord Byron, but that could wait until tomorrow. I had to do at least an hour of sword work sometime today or I would start to get fat and lazy.

I needed to call Garret and have a nice long chat.

And I needed to call Adam and tell him wether or not I would be joining him for dinner.

... hm. Dinner. At Adam's house. Made by Adam. Probably including wine. And Candlelight. And more wine. Maybe some music. Maybe some flowers. Probably more wine with a really chocolate-y desert, followed by... whatever our dirty little minds could come up with.

I reached out and turned the water knob, opening up the cold. Brrr. Yes. Cold shower. Useful.

Alright, I'll admit it. I liked Adam.

I think I liked him a lot.

He was clever, he was funny, he was great at giving massages and his accent was cute. His nose was adorable, he made fantastic coffee, and he knew what it felt like to be me. He used to be a Watcher, so he could be a good person to confide my fears in, and it would be nice to have someone to spar with every once and a while. He also had a solid profession in the same University I was attending, so we would definitely see each other every day. Hell, even his apartment was close to mine. And yay, Immortal stamina.

On the other hand, maybe all his kindness was some weird way of getting me to drop my guard so he could take my head.

Hm... no. He'd had his chances at that already. If he wanted to formally challenge me, he would have the minute he'd gotten to town. If he had wanted to be sneaky about it, he would have done it last night when I was dead stinking drunk.

So there is was. I had no qualms whatsoever with having a relationship with Adam ... except: Garret.

Garret was my FRIEND. As pissed as I'd been with him the last few days, I owed him more than a metaphorical punch in the chops by suddenly hoping in the sack with the first Immortal to show up. Garret had confessed his feelings for me, laid his heart out on the line, given me a very sweet and very memorable kiss. Garret cared about me. Garret KNEW me. It would be so easy to bring our relationship that step closer.

Did I like Garret? Well, in my mind he was still just my friend. I had never thought of him as a potential love match, so I had never considered what it would be like to be with him. Maybe I could love Garret. I didn't know. That was something I was going to have to find out.

But was it fair to me or Garret to test out the waters, to let him think that there was maybe a chance, when I knew full well that I would be happy with Adam.

I banged my forehead against the side of the shower and shut off the water.

This was really starting to be more mental work than it was worth.


	12. Dinner

Swordbearer 

Chapter 12: "Dinner"

October 21st, 2006 - evening

* * *

I had called Professor Martin and agreed to give a guest lecture in one of his first year classes on the difference between 'history' and what was in the text books. I had been at a few key moments of British political happenings, and it was necessary for ickle firsties to understand that the facts in the text book weren't always right. Then again, a priomary source was always biased, too.

I honestly thought that this was Prof. Martin's not so invisible ploy to get me to talk about my past.

I didn't call Garret back yet. I wasn't ready for it. Besides, I was on my way to have dinner with Adam. It just felt... wrong.

When six o'clock rolled around I threw on my outerwear, strapped on my sword, grabbed a cloth bag off the table, and locked up after myself.

I was walking to Adam's - it wasn't too far, and the fresh air was nice.

* * *

Adam was on the phone when I knocked on his door. I heard him say, "Hold on Mac. COME IN! It's open!"

"Mac?" I asked as I entered, pointing to the phone.

He put his palm over the receiver. "Duncan MacLeod." He listened for a second then said, "Yeah, she's here. I gotta go. Say hi to Joe for me, eh? Hm? Okay ... and Amanda's there too? Hail hail. Okay, yeah. Try not to kill anyone.... try anyway. Bye."

He hung up the phone and smiled over his shoulder at me as he poked at something in a pot. "Almost ready. Have a seat in the living room - there's nuts on the table, if you want."

I stepped into the apartment, and glanced around. It was tastefully decorated, not all that different from mine. To my left was the entrance to the kitchen, a semi-wall between it an a small dining room created by breakfast bar and three stools. The dining room set was worn looking, made of a light wood. The walls were mostly bare, and a thick cream colour, but there were a few framed pictures sitting in a corner, as if waiting to be hung. There was a single bookshelf filled with all sorts of Latin and Greek school text books, piles of notes, and every single copy of Ovid, Horace, Euripides, Virgil, Homer, or any other Classical poet or playwright to be had.

Beyond the bar was the kitchen, white and clean and new looking, except for the disaster that looked like an attempt at cooking on the honey-coloured counter top. I smiled and looked away. Well, not every 70 year old man was a gourmet chef. I just hoped he didn't kill either of us.

The dining room table was set with ikea-esque blue plates with little red squares around the rim, mismatched wine and water glasses, and two very expensive and out of place looking silver candle holders.

I slipped off my shoes, which were slightly muddy from my walk to his apartment, and instead of following his invitation to the living room, walked up behind him and handed him a cloth sack. He gave me a funny look, and I rummaged in side the bag.

I held up a bottle of wine, and a small wheel of cheese. "Hope you don't mind - it's a '98, though. Okay year for the Niagra Wine. I picked up this at the deli market - the best Camembert I've tasted this side of the Seine."

He set down the fork and tea towel he'd been juggling and took the bottle and cheese from me with a smile of thanks. He set it on the kitchen counter, then took my coat. There was an awkward moment was we tried to figure out if the gentleman was also supposed to take the lady's sword. I finally unhooked my hip holster and just set it down on the coffee table in the living room.

The living room was on the other side of the apartment, with what I assumed was his bedroom and bathroom beyond it. The sofa and love seat were dark green and well-loved, the walls lined with bookshelves and a rather large TV, potted plants, and a bizarre neon sign that flashed, spelling out "Bartender Says: Free Beer Tomorrow!"

I plopped down on the couch and picked at the nuts as Adam finished up playing around in the kitchen. He came to join me, sitting down right beside me with a soft smile on his face. He was wearing, I noticed, for the first time not a sweater and jeans set, but I nice pair of dark trousers and an untucked button down shirt in a soft charcoal.

Yum.

I had deliberately worn pants, although mine were also dark dress trousers. It had seemed silly to wear a skirt - I was going to be walking outside in the chill October air, and it sent fewer 'signals'. In my three hundred and something years on this planet, I had learned that wearing skirt around a man usually was treated as an invitation to stick a hand under it.

Not that Adam wasn't cute. He definitely had lots of cute.

And if we drank more than just that bottle of wine, I'd definitely be on the receiving end of a whole lot of stupid. Adam's cute my stupid ... possibly trouble? Lots of fun, yes. But... maybe guilt too.

Again, the hurt expression that had been on Garret's face when he caught us in the hall flashed across my mind. I closed my eyes briefly. Goddamn Garret anyway. I was still peeved at him, though not as angry as before and... and now I was peeved for a different reason. He claims he has loved me for three years. Even for an Immortal, three years is a long time.

I felt sorry for Garret - to finally confess his feelings, only to find me playing tonsil hockey with the new Immie in town. But it was his own fault, right? I mean, if you're not gonna act, then you have no right to bitch.

...right.

Only when I thought of Garret being in love with me, I got squirmy little worm-butterflies who could do precise in-formation loop-de-loops in my tummy. When I thought of Adam, the squirmy warm feeling moved considerably lower.

I was in lust with one, and possibly in love with the other? Or was I falling in love with Adam, too? And could I ever actually lust after my best friend?

I decided once and for all to push these annoying little thoughts to the back of my mind for the night. I was here with Adam. ADAM. Not Garret. I was going to have fun, dammit.

I turned my smile to Adam and he chuckled. "Hello, there you are."

"What?"

He leaned back against the arm of the chair, managing to lounge gracefully despite the cramped quarters. He wasn't quite comfortable enough to put his sock feet on my lap, so he opted instead to twist slightly at the hips (which threw the planes of them up in sharp contrast against his trouser front - yeow) and rest his feet on the coffee table next to the hilt of my sword. "You were gone for a bit - off in flashback land?"

"Flashback land?" I repeated, tearing my eyes away from the wrinkles in the fabric of his waistband. "That's cute. I like that."

Adam smiled and laced his fingers together. He lifted his arms above his head and stretched, yawning slightly with closed eyes, his toned chest muscles suddenly visible behind the waterfall of his shirt. He cracked one lazy eye in my direction.

Oh, he was good.

He let his joined hands slip behind his head to cradle his neck and one corner of his lips pulled up. "So, what did you do today?"

"Some phonecalls, some homework. Worked out for a bit. Then you."

He smiled. "You did me?"

I closed my eyes and groaned. I had walked into that one. I didn't know which hurt worse, my gullibility or the fact that he actually told that horrible joke. Slightly desperate - and slightly surprised at my desperation - to get beyond my goof I asked, "What did you do?"

He smiled again. "I got to sleep in for the first time in a while. It was nice. Then I went shopping. Then you."

I chose not to comment on his flippant throwing of my words back in my face-ness and reached over his long legs to get at the mixed nuts on the table. I popped a few into my mouth and said, "What's for dinner?"

I saw his cheeks suck in and could tell he was refraining from making a lewd comment. Well, well - restraint. An uncommon trait in Immortals. He was saving the seduction for the dinner table ... well, the brunt of it.

Did he know how sexy he looked, just ... sprawling like that?

He was still smiling.

Of course he knew. Bastard.

I continued to suck on the nuts, not to be outdone. If Seduction was to be the name of the game for the night, then I was a pretty damned good player when I wanted to be. He reached over and stole a peanut from my palm and slipped it in his mouth.

I may be a decent player, but this guy was profession, pure and simple.

Thank god the smoke alarm came to my rescue.

Adam cussed and sprang up to his feet, leapt over the back of the sofa, slipping on the hardwood floor of the dining room in only his socks, and into the kitchen. I laughed as he pulled the pot off the stove and frantically waved a tea towel under the smoke alarm in an effort to make the thing shut up.

He muttered at the pot for a while, called out and said, "Sorry, I'll just be a bit," generally made noises in the kitchen, and then came back to the sofa with the tea towel still draped over his shoulder and two glasses of the wine I'd brought. I looked over my shoulder and noticed the cheese was now on the table, with a fresh-looking baguette. I quirked my eyebrow - normally the cheese wasn't served until after the entree, and before the desert.

This whole affair was teeter-totterign between formal and casual, which was weird, fun, and kinda endearing. He was like a fumbling kid who didn't quite know what to do. Okay, so he was like a fumbling under-a-century kid, which is long enough to become one of those over obnoixious I',-so-suave-because-I-can't-die Immortal prats. Obviously, Adam had stayed pretty true to himself, and it made me wonder if I was still true to the essance of who I was.

"You're gone again," Adam said softly, and I looked up from where I had been staring into the depths of my rich red wine.

I sighed and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. "Sorry - I was just... thinking."

"About?" he took a sip of his own wine, held it in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed it with a small lip-twitch of approval. "You're right, this is pretty good. So what were you thinking about?" He watched me over the rim of his glass, and I realized how...well... pretty his eyes were. Such a nice shade of nutty-green.

I shook my head, "You'll think I'm a moron. I mean - I know I look twenty or so, and you look like you're in your late twenties, but... and, I mean, don't get me wrong about this, because I'm not so superficial as to care about something like that... but... I was jsut thinking how strange it was that you were... so young."

Adam smiled a sort of amused secret smile and set down his glass. He sat up and took my glass out of my hands and set it aside with his, then turned back and wrapped his long slendign fingers around my hand. "I really don't think age matters in this case."

"Oh, no, it doesn't BOTHER me, per se. It's just... kinda weird ... that you're still within your mortal lifetime, you know?" He nodded and one of his thumbs stroked the underside of my wrist gently. I shrugged, deciding to lighten the mood a bit. "Besides, I've always liked older men."

His eyes got huge and his lips parted with ... I don't know... shock? Humour? He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth and his body was wracked with violent shudders.

"Adam?" I said, sitting up, worried. What had I said that had caused such a violent physical reaction? I heard a choking gafaw slip through his fingers and scowled. He wasn't SICK... he was LAUGHING. I punched his shoulder. "WHAT is so funny?"

Adam laughed and only shook his head. A timer went off in the kitchen and with hand gestures he excused himself to go pull a sheet out of the oven.

My scowl became a smile as I watched him try to lift the meal while he was shaking with laughter.


	13. And a Dance

**Swordbearer  
**By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

_Special Thanks to TVNerdGirl, who helped break me out of my writer's block on this one_.

* * *

Chapter 13: "Dinner and a Dance"

October 21st, 2006 – late evening

Dinner was served.

It was slightly blackened, but otherwise mostly good. Adam had prepared a dish of simple chicken breasts in white wine and peach crème. It was absolutely divine and I wondered why I'd never thought of it myself. Or it would have been divine if the chicken was white instead of black.

He served it on a bed of fluffy egg noodles, which he admitted to buying at the supermarket, with caramelized peach-halves. With my Camembert and the baguette, it was a splendid if simple (and lacking a vegetable) meal.

The chicken was a little charred but... eh... carbon is good for you, right? There's no law saying that every 70 something year old man had to be a good cook.

The candles in very old and precious silver candlesticks on the table were lit, and I wondered again if they were a gift from his Teacher.

Then I wondered who his Teacher was.

Could it have been MacLeod? The two seemed close.

I sat and watched him scurry around, and let him serve out my portion of the meal and pour my wine. The glass was a little more full that was considered proper, but what the Hell, eh? We were Immortals and before the night was done, we would probably be bed buddies too.

The thought didn't really disturb me so much as the ease with which I accepted it.

Well, why not? I liked him; it was obvious he was trying to seduce me. I mean, it's not as if I could get pregnant or Aids or anything more acute than a broken heart. And even then, I wasn't betting on one of those, either.

"Cheers," I said gently and raised my glass to him.

Adam smiled and clinked my class with his. I picked up a knife and fork and stared at the meal before me. It smelled good but it was… black. He blushed a little as he watched my struggle with the blackened chicken.

"Err, I never said cooking was a specialty of mine," he finally admitted. He had been picking at his pasta and peaches, but had pretty much left the chicken to suffer all by its lonesome.

Well, if the chef wasn't eating it, I sure as heck didn't have to be polite and eat it either.

"Cooking isn't one of mine either," I admitted, waving the knife. "Three hundred years, you figure I'd know how to work a toaster"

Adam smirked. "Well I'm not _that_ pathetic." He grinned to show he was teasing. He was watching my reactions closely, both verbal and physical. He was Slightly clumsy, but charming and definitely one hell of a ladies man. Not for the first time I wondered where and how he had died – why I saw such weight in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking.

Adam had teased me about 'flashback land', but when I saw him there, he was utterly still, almost inhuman. Almost like a different person entirely. It was actually kind of scary. I was glad he was still light and teasing.

"So, how were the classes you sat in on?" I asked, trying to distract myself from my suddenly morbid thoughts.

He shrugged. "Not terribly boring, however I'm still getting used to people staring at me. I've always tried to blend in and not get noticed you know? I'm not much of a fighter. The idea that others know who I am...gives me the willies."

I nodded. "Totally understanding that one. It goes against all instincts, you know? I mean, my teacher said to never, ever let people know who or what I am and suddenly..." I gestured with no small amount of frustration at the swords on the coffee table. "I'm just waiting to get lynched."

"Instinct is hard to let go of," Adam murmured quietly. "To be fair though, the ones we really have to worry about are other immortals, and they can tell who we are no matter what. Humans are a nuisance, but they can't really hurt us...even lynching would be a temporary discomfort. I just don't like being... I don't know, looked at like some sort of celebrity, science experiment or Satan's spawn, and I've received all three reactions."

"Jumping up in front of the United Nations certainly cant've helped. Were you really that opposed to the VWL? I mean, so opposed that you ... I heard you actually threw a punch at THE Duncan MacLeod."

Adam laughed suddenly, a very warm, full laugh. I decided that I liked his Adam's apple very much. It was a very bouncy, jolly Adam's apple and made me want to lick it. I had more wine instead, which may or may not have been a good idea. "I've thrown many punches at Mac. Man can be an arrogant bastard at times." He grinned, but then grew serious. "But yes, I really was that opposed. I thought it meant that I would never have any privacy, always be on my guard, constantly inspected and scrutinized. Folly of youth I guess...I mean, I'm really not that desirable in terms of immortals to go after. I should have realized that."

I laughed, light and high. His modesty was amusing and refreshing after so much sexual arrogance. "Heads are heads. So tell me, how did you meet 'Mac'? Was he your teacher?"

"Yea, _gods_, no! I would have taken my _own_ head."

I laughed again and waited until he'd finished sopping up the sauce on his plate with a bit of bread before asking, "I hear rumor that one of his clansmen, his uncle or sommat, had some strange floaty Quickening. He ever tell you about that?"

Adam smiled strangely. "There's a lot he tells me, but I expect that some of it he wants to keep secret - no offense." He paused, and I shrugged as if to say, 'none taken'. Really, there wasn't, just girlish curiosity, that's all. "As for how we met...well, I nearly got my butt handed to me while training at his dojo one day. I was feeling rather cocky and thought I could take him on. I was wrong." He smiled wryly.

I finished my own pasta and poked forlornly at the chicken. It had smelled so good, too. "Cocky youngsters. Like you on the bus with me. And that kiss in the hall. You are pretty cocksure for such a strappling youth." I grinned at him over the side of my wine glass, enjoying the mild flirting.

Adam grinned back, suddenly totally immersed in the game of 'young, cocky Immy'. "Well, I do have much to learn. Perhaps you could be the one to teach me the ropes...and the chains? That is, if you're up to it..._grandma_..." He winked.

I kicked him under the table, nailing his kneecap with my heel. My smile never wavered.

Adam pretended a wince, though we both knew it hadn't hurt him. "Like it rough then?" His voice was innocent and teasing as he took another sip of his wine. By now we had both forgotten his terrible dinner, though that was probably for the better.

I poked at the chicken on my plate one last time, considering what it would taste like if I just cut off the top layer, and opted instead for a piece of bread with the rich, creamy camembert spread on it. I took my time with preparing it and chewed lustily, purposefully not answering.

I swallowed and then said, "Are you sure you're _old_ enough to be playing games like these?"

Adam laughed at my comment. His eyes twinkled secretively. "I dunno. You're older. You've been there and done that. You tell me."

"Well, I suppose I can chalk some of this up to beginner's luck..."

"Does that mean I'll be getting lucky?" He had begun to lean towards me, resting his elbows on the table, but he stopped himself and winced. "I am so sorry about that one. That was a terrible joke that escaped my mouth before my brain caught up with me."

I threw back my head and laughed outright. When I had sobered, I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "For that one, you get a reward."

Adam grinned ear to ear like a small child who had just gotten a finger puppet from the doctor after being good getting his booster shot. "Really? Most girls woulda slapped me for that one. I mean it was _bad _- even by my standards."

"But you apologized. That's what the reward was for," I explained, pushing aside me plate to lean on the table to imitate him. "Or, if you don't like it..." I smirked girlishly, "you could give it back."

Adam pretended to ponder that for a moment, then leaned in slowly (to give me the opportunity to back away if I chose) and kissed me softly on my nose as well. "I have to tell more bad jokes to apologize for in the future." His voice was husky as he pulled away, and I couldn't help but notice what fine eyelashes he had.

I sat back and toyed with the stem of my wine glass. I was slouching a little and it made me look even more like an exhausted university student. "Future, eh? You're planning on sticking around, then?" It was not a cruelly or crudely asked question, but it _was_ straightforward and honest.

Adam saw the curiosity and realizes that I was conflicted by him. He frowned, not wanting to lie to me, but probably not wanting to let me go just yet. "I don't know. I mean, I like you, and I think you like me. I don't know where that will lead just yet, but I'm not thinking that far ahead, if you get my meaning." He fidgeted slightly and decided to tell me a little bit about his past to let me know where he was coming from. "I lost someone recently that I cared for. I'm still taking things slow with people."

I looked up at him, meeting his eyes slowly. Mine, I could only guess, were filled with a similar pain and understanding.

"Alexa?"

"How do you know her name?" he asked, drawing back from me a bit, obviously startled.

"You... said her name out loud when we were at the Double Olive."

Adam was genuinely surprised. "Did I?" I suppose he didn't normally let his thoughts or emotions slip so easily. "Yes, that was my name. I was...well, I was someone incredibly special. But mortal. And I guess it never gets any easier."

"No, I guess it doesn't. If I can ask… how long ago was this?"

He shrugged and slumped back in his own chair. "Almost eight years ago. I mean, I know that was a long time, as far as Immortals go, but--"

I cut him off by placing a hand on top of his. He stared at it like an alien thing for a second, then lifted his other hand and placed it on top of mine. "You're still young," I said, "And every lost person hurts. It's okay to still be grieving someone you loved very much."

"I… I guess age does make you wise."

I tried to smile and it fell flat. "You don't have to sound so damned amazed. And I'm not _that_ old. I'm not Methos or anything."

He shook his head, a smile escaping that he just couldn't seem to contain. "No, you're definitely _not_ Methos." There was a strange silence, and I couldn't tell if it was awkward or not. He broke it quickly by asking if I had lost anyone recently.

"No, not really. I've… well, you know, burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice. I've never let myself be burnt a second time."

"Totally opposed to love then?"

"No, just not confident that a decent man exists, and marrying Immortals just seems too…"

"Permanent?"

I looked up and met his eyes. "Actually, I was going to say 'fleeting'. You never know when one of you is going to be challenged."

He nodded. "So who burned you?"

I turned my eyes to the candle flames momentarily. "My husband... I didn't choose him. That was the way – Da told me which man to go with and I went. Well, he was a rude fucker and a terrible man, but he was mine, you know?" I shrugged. "It almost serves him right that I was Immortal and he wasn't. But I... I miss him. Sometimes. I couldn't imagine feeling that kind of ache times two."

Adam nodded in understanding. "It's been a while since my death, but I'm not that ready to be...somebody's you know? I mean, I'm ready enough to move on, but part of my heart is still hers. I don't know what that means in terms of me being here or not, but I'm living day to day. It's the only way I know how."

Almost sadly, I raised a gentle hand towards the ceiling. "Amen, brother. Preach it." Then I raised my half-full glass. "To living Day to Day."

Adam smiled and touched my glass once more, but this time seeing something else in my eyes. "You're not completely here either are you? Your friend... the Watcher. He means something."

Too quickly I answered, "no." I drank my glass to the dregs and refilled both his and mine. "No, that lying son of a bitch peeping tom means nothing to me."

Adam smiled in that annoyingly smug way that I had come to know so well already, not the least bit offended that he wasn't #1 in my eyes. It was easier this way. "If that were true, it wouldn't make you so angry that he lied to you."

I said nothing, glaring into my wine.

Then I drank all of it at once.

Adam watched me, and I could feel the worry radiating off him slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch a nerve. I just thought that if we were being honest with each other, it was a good time to get him out in the open."

"Yeah, yeah," I set down the glass. "I guess I went and spoiled the mood, eh? Sorry."

Adam let go of my hand and I folded them in my lap, suddenly self-conscious and feeling really really stoopid.

"I just... I just don't know what to do, you know?" I said, staring at my lap, "I thought we were _friends_. I mean, I don't know what I'm most angry about. Him being _A_ watcher, him being _my_ Watcher, or him being in love with me for the past three years and never _telling_ me!"

"It's a lot to swallow," Adam agreed with an understanding nod. "Believe me I get it. I value privacy just as much as you do -- maybe more. The question you have to ask yourself is, if none of that were an issue...if you were both Immortal, or mortal, or whatever, and he confessed his feelings... what would that mean for you? Take away everything else -- strip it bare. How would you answer him?"

"I…" I said, "I… I can't… I mean, I don't…"

"I understand if you can't do that yet. In the meantime, I'd like to get to know you in whatever capacity you will allow. I know that's vague, but it's the best I can do."

I stopped stuttering like a moron and looked at him, gaping slightly in shock. "So you're willing to ... this..." gestures around vaguely, "even knowing that I may just up and leave you for him. Or just up and leave entirely?"

"I hope you don't take this as being uncaring or unfeeling, but yes. I like you. And if there's anything I've learned is that you shouldn't let someone you like stay out of the realm of possibility, even if it's only for a short while." He took a sip of his wine and paused before continuing. "I'm not ready for anything beyond this either. I still...at this point, forever would be too long for me…." He made a face. "Sounds weird coming from an Immortal, eh?"

I laughed lightly, although there was a note of sadness, which damped down on the freeness o that had burst out earlier. I leaned over again, moving aside the baguette so I could lean on the table, and kissed his forehead. "Another reward for more honesty."

Adam smiled, knowing that as much truth as he could give had been the right choice to make. Then, to lighten the mood, he let the mischievousness back into his tone. "Does this mean if I told you how incredibly alluring you look tonight, I'd get another...reward?"

He waggled his eyebrows hopefully

I giggled. Good, _god_, I _actually giggled. _He was making me act like a _girl. _"Maaaaaaaaaaaybe."

"In that case, I could give you a body part by body part inventory... what would that get me?"

"It depends, of course, on whether or not you have any EDIBLE food in your house. Or, will we have to call for Chinese?"

Adam laughed out loud at that and looked back at the ruined dinner we had both shoved away. "I really really shouldn't try seduction by home cooked meal again, should I?"

"You shouldn't invite a lady over for dinner when you're drunk and have forgotten that you can't cook."

He stood up and walked into his kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "I was not drunk!"

He the fridge, then the pantry, then cupboards, and eventually turned back to me with a frown. "Chinese sounds good. All I have here is beer and crackers."

"And bread and cheese," I corrected as he came back to the table and sat down. He had the cordless phone in his hand and a Chinese take-out menu in the other. I looked over my shoulder at the cheese. "Which is almost gone." I reached out and caught a gooey gob of creamy cheese on one fingertip, then brought it up to his lips.

He sucked it off my fingertip slowly, making sure I felt every nuance of it, before leaning back and smiling in contentment both with the action and the taste of the cheese. "Now that was tasty."

"Mmmm… maybe we won't get to the Chinese." I said in a low voice. "I could do with some... where are you from, anyway? Welsh?"

"Yep. Born and bred. And I'm up for whatever you have on the menu... I hear I'm quite the delicacy."

I laughed outright, the sadness gone. "Oh, my god, you're just _too much_!"

Adam seemed to resist the urge to bow.

I sat up on the table, folding my legs under me in the lotus position, and laced my fingers. I rested my chin on them and grinned. "Were you this bad when you were mortal?"

Adam grinned and played along. This was too much fun anyway. "Worse." He said with mock drama in his tone. "I was quite the cad back in my day!"

"Totally believing it. Bet you made out with the girls at the sock hop. And then you took them for burgers and malts and tried to get a hand under their poodle skirts."

Adam tried not to laugh until it bubbled over him and he sat back, his chest shaking with merriment at the image. "The fifties really were a stupid decade weren't they?" Then, he looked at my appraisingly. "Though I do think you would look VERY good in a poodle skirt--"

I held up a hand and stopped that musing. "No, never not ONCE. And I won't put one on just to fulfill your childhood fantasy either."

Adam pouted. His bottom lip jutted out and he was _pouting_, his greeny-brown eyes actually tearing up. I bet he used to use that face on his Mom.

"I am a pants girl and I will stay a pants girl. I'll have you know I was kicked out of a mall once for wearing denim trousers. BOY'S trousers."

Adam laughed again, picturing it. "You were quite the rabble rouser! Did you burn your bra in the sixties?"

"Yes. Gladly. They were torture devices and still are. Girdles, corsets, and bras. To Hell with all of them!" I leaned forward and licked the shell of his ear. "But you... hmmm... I wouldn't mind seeing you in something that reminds me of home…a pair of hose... maybe a kilt."

Adam shivered at the contact and looked me dead in the eye. "A kilt I can do... even the hose if I'm really drunk... just don't ask me to wear your bra... even I have standards."

I laughed gently into his ear. "So, are we going to play cat and mouse all night, or are you going to kiss me, Professor Pierson?"

Adam smiled slowly and leaned in until his lips are inches from mine. "I was merely waiting for your invitation, my lady. I'm nothing, if not a gentleman." And before I could answer, he captured my lips gently in his, kissing me softly and letting my set the pace.

I sighed. Yes, there was that fuzzy balloon head feeling.

Oh, this was nice.

I settled my arms around his neck and slid off the lip of the table into his lap. I pulled back slowly and smiled. "MUCH better. So, what were you saying earlier about ...chains?"

* * *

October 22nd, 2006 – Afternoon

I groaned and opened my eyes, glaring hatefully at the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. I turned my eyes to the clock and moaned.

Two in the afternoon.

Already.

And I had stuff to do.

I looked to my other side and smiled. Adam was stretched out, laying on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow. He was in his starkers, and the line of his back was very pleasing, until the pooling of the soft cotton sheets just under his bum interrupted it. Feeling generous, I reached out and slid the sheets upwards to keep him warm.

Adam smiled in his sleep. I watched as slowly, consciousness returned to him and his eyes opened. He met my gaze and found me looking at him partly in amusement partly in appreciation.

He smiled lazily. It was a lovely, sexy smile.

"Good morning...afternoon," I corrected myself.

"Good indeed," he told me, letting his gaze roam over me freely. I fought back the blush –_ I was almost three hundred, for god's sake! –_ and snuggled back into the pillow. "We really slept the day away, didn't we?"

I turned and cuddled into his side, keeping the sheet between our bodies. "Yup."

Adam sighed in contentment.

I echoed it. It had been a while since I had been with a man that I had felt this comfortable with. I had no illusions that we would fall madly in love, but I did know there was a nice genuine friendship here and I liked that. Not to mention he had been fabulous in bed.

He smiled at me. "I don't mind. Do you need to go? Or could I attempt to redeem myself by making pancakes? I swear I won't screw them up."

I eyed him. "I don't know if I believe you."

He laughed softly and kissed me before sitting up and making a show of cracking his knuckles. "Well why don't we find out?"

"Sure - can I use the phone?"

Adam gestured over the night table where the base and the cordless phone rested before pulling on a pair of blue boxers and padding into the kitchen to attempt the pancakes.

I dialed the number of Prof. Martin and received confirmation of the guest lecture. I hesitated over the phone, debating whether or not to call Garrett, and decided not to.

It seemed uncouth to call from another man's bed.

Besides, I had really enjoyed the night before. Perhaps I would just hang on and see where this lead. As much as I agreed with a lot of what Adam had said the night before, I was willing to hang onto Adam and see what developed.

As I was staring at the phone, it rang.

"Uh... oh! ADAM!" I called, but he didn't answer me. "Um..." I hit the talk button. "Adam's pants."

A deep baritone man's voice came over the speaker, hesitant and unsure. "Um, yes, I'm looking for Adam the man... not his pants."

I lay back on the bed. "He's in the kitchen burning breakfast."

"Sounds about right. When will that man learn that cooking is just not his forte?" The man paused. "Well I wouldn't want to distract him...the fire department has enough on their hands. Would you tell him please that Duncan MacLeod called? Umm...I'm sorry miss, I don't know your name."

"Abby. Uh... Wait, _the_ Duncan MacLeod? Oh, _cool_."

MacLeod's voice chuckled richly over the phone. "I wasn't aware I was a celebrity. Unless Adam has told you bad stories. Don't believe a word that man says... he's a blatant liar."

"No, I just pay attention to the news."

"Ahh." He paused again. "Well I wouldn't believe half of what's on that either. How do you know Adam?"

"Um. He teaches at my school. Oh… uh…wow, No, yes, wait, that sounded _really_ really bad. Uh..."

MacLeod chuckled again. "It would if I wasn't assuming you're an immortal... and older than you appear." There was a pregnant pause. "You _are_ immortal right? And over 18?"

"What?" I said, shocked by how annoyed MacLeod sounded. "Why? Has he done this before?"

Smoothly he answered "no, I'm just having fun at Adam's expense."

"Oh. Well I am. Immortal, I mean. And old. Well, no, not _old_ but...erg. I am Immortal and Adam just got _hired_ at my University and he um... what am I doing, we're all adults here. It's two in the afternoon and I answered 'Adam's Pants'. You can put two an two together, right?"

"Where Adam is concerned, I'm quite adept at the math, believe me." He then added thoughtfully, "Though the man has fantastic pants sometimes. Out of curiosity, how old are you?"

"Almost three hundred." I paused, completely disbelieving that I had _just_ said that. "Erg... and now you're going to come for my head. _God_, I'm an idiot sometimes."

"Adam always did like older women." MacLeod replied, though his voice had the same irony to it that Adam's had when speaking of his age. I wondered what the joke was. "Believe me when I say that I have no interest in the head of an immortal who has done nothing to warrant it. Not to mention you're a friend of Adam's. Which makes you a friend of mine." His voice was warm and pleasant.

That made me pause. "...really?"

"Of course." MacLeod's voice was jovial. "Why would I want your head? The news didn't portray me as a headhunter did they? Well, you know what I mean."

"No, no, I just... Um, you know... it's a really nice thing to say. Erg, okay, now that I'm mortified, can I pass on a message to the Burnanator?"

Mac laughed again. "No, it's all right. I just wondered if he'd be up for a beer later, but if you two had plans I wouldn't want to impose on them." He paused for a moment. "Unless you wanted to join us, Abby?"

"A beer sounds good. Are you in town?"

"Only briefly." He answered. "I was just passing through on annoying official-type business. Thought I would see what the...Old ma--" he paused. "what Adam was up to."

"Sounds good to me - why don't I pass you over to the kid?"

Mac chuckled strangely again. "I'd appreciate that. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Ta, then."

I wrapped myself in the sheet and popped my head out the door, waving the phone. "Aaaadaaam! Scot on the phone for you!"

Adam stalked back to the bedroom muttering something about how Duncan couldn't do without him, even for a little while. He picked up the phone and watched as I eyed him while he spoke to MacLeod.

"Missed me already eh Mac? Yeah? Huh? You spoke to... you didn't tell her any crazy stories about me did you? I know you, _that's_ why. Yeah, a beer we can do. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll pay for my own this time. I have a job now and everything. All right. See you later. Bye."


	14. Telling Stories

**Swordbearer  
**By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Part Fourteen: "Telling Stories"

October 22nd, 2006 – Late evening

* * *

"So there I was rolling around on the ground outside of my office, taking whacks at this asshole," Adam paused long enough to take a healthy swig of his beer. The Immortal known as Duncan MacLeod and I exchanged a glance. Both of our expressions said, 'yeah, right'. Adam swallows and slapped his empty pint glass down onto the table top to get our attention again. "I get in a good couple hits, right, but I don't want to punch the guy's lights out. So I'm just tapping him. Well, who comes along but Colonel Montoya! Well, the fucker arrests _me_ when I explain to him that Captain Grishalm _drugged_ the girl to keep her quiet. Gave damn near a whole bottle of Laudanum."

I frowned. "But why would her lover drug her? I mean, they're having an affair, right? Why wouldn't he want her to confess that the vigilante had been the one to hurt her?"

Duncan set down his own empty glass and turned in his seat to flag down the waitress for another pitcher. "I get it," he said over his shoulder as he held up the empty pitcher for the server to see. She nodded and went back behind the bar. Duncan put down the pitcher and said, "The vigilante didn't really push Vera."

"What?" I asked. "I thought you said that the vigilante pushed the chick."

Adam shook his head, "'Fraid Mac's right. The Queen of Swords was no where near her. It was all an excuse to declare martial law over the city and seize control from the guys in charge."

"That fucking stupid," I said. "What a jerk!"

Adam grinned. "Oh, it gets better. You see, Montoya tells me that what I've done is treason."

"Well, you were beating on an army officer," Duncan pointed out and Adam waved his hand in Mac's face, making a 'go away' gesture.

"As if you haven't done it."

"Then what?" I asked. As much as I hated to admit it, I was hanging on his every word. Adam was nothing if not a great storyteller.

"So Montoya tells me that what I've done is a hanging offence. _Treason_, he says. Only he can't out and out kill me, 'cause one, the town would lynch him, and two, the Queen would probably rescue me, and he'd look like a fool."

"And three," I added, "Immortal."

Adam nodded. He raised his glass and waved it at Mac, who blew out a sigh, smiled, and poured him another beer. "So yeah. So Grishalm drags me out into the middle of goddamned _nowhere_ and tells me to start walking. Then he aims a pistol at my back, and I'm thinking, shit, he's gonna shoot me and he's gonna leave my body out here. That won't be so bad, only I can't go back to being the good doctor Helm. So guess what happens?"

"The Vigilante showed up."

Adam laughed. "Yup. Saved my bacon, she did. Well, saved me from getting shot in the head. Which is unpleasant, I can tell you!"

We all laughed, because we'd all been shot at least once. Either you laugh or you scream when you recall memories like that, so we all laughed. We were to drunk to do otherwise.

And Phoey thought Immortality was all roses and champagne. Ha!

To avoid thinking about the unpleasant sensation of having the back of my skull blown out, I turned my head to watch the other clientele. They were mostly students or the construction workers trying to liquidate their paycheques or the die-hard drinkers. Hell, it was a Sunday night, and the only people who would be here were the people determined to die of liver poisoning.

Or, you know, those immune to it.

It was fast approaching Last Call and we'd been sitting in the bar for well on four hours. We drank, laughed, had the most horrible French fries ever, and generally had a good time. I didn't think of Garrett once. Except to realize that I hadn't thought of Garrett once.

That afternoon when I had left Adam to try to clean the carbon off his pans after he had served me mostly unburnt pancakes, I hadn't really thought I would spend all this time with him later. It had been a casual and comfortable breakfast, but I declined his invitation to join him in the shower and made my way home.

I didn't want to meet Duncan MacLeod in the same clothing I'd had Adam pull off me earlier. And I wasn't sure if I was ready to spend the whole day with Adam. I liked him. He was a great kisser and mostly made up for his lack of cooking skills. But to spend the whole day with him was sort of communicating a comfort level, and a commitment level, that I wasn't willing to take up.

Yet here I was, not eight hours after I had said good bye this afternoon, listening to his ridiculous stories. I supposed these were the ones Duncan had warned me about.

I mean, did Adam honestly expect me to believe that after he got electrocuted my his own Immortal's Quickening on the battlefield during the First World War, he moved to southern Spain and was a doctor in a town with a masked vigilante?

The math didn't add up for, one.

And who sees vigilantes outside of Zorro epics and Sam Raimi television series?

Adam had understood my need to be away from him and think for a little while. I had gone home and worked out, showered, changed, had a nice slice of frozen pizza or three and did some homework. Around ten at night my phone rang and Adam's voice came over the wires to tell me to get my cute arse downstairs, he and 'Mac' were waiting for my in the latter's car in my parking lot.

I shook Mac's hand and moved to give Adam a peck on the cheek. He turned his head and kissed me full on the lips instead. It was long and slow and made me do the balloon-head thing, and I knew it was all for Mac's benefit. He wrapped his hands around the tops of my arms and drew me as close to him as possible, and I was pressed half against his chest (he had rolled down the window) and half against the door of MacLeod's car.

I pulled back, and he pressed forward, determined to keep his tongue in my mouth.

Whether it was a 'mine' kiss or a 'see, I really have a girlfriend and I wasn't making her up' kiss, I don't know, but at that point, I sure as hell didn't care!

I peeled Adam away from me and gave him the eye. The 'that was bizarre and why the hell did you do that?' eyes. I turned to look at the famous Duncan MacLeod and his own eyes were bugged out, his jaw on the top of his steering wheel. I blushed from my toes up.

He shook his head, punched Adam in the shoulder, and got out of the car to open the rear passenger door for me.

Duncan told me to call him Mac, and those warm fuzzies I had gotten when he had told me I was automatically his friend just because I was with Adam came back. It was a nice feeling, to be trusted. I hadn't been feeling a lot of that lately.

He drove us to the bar, where Adam made a point of buying the first two rounds. I think he was, in a bizarre way, trying to get revenge on Duncan for opening the car door by _not_ allowing him to be further chivalrous.

I bought the third round, and Mac bought the fourth. I assumed this fifth round was my responsibility, but Mac put down the money for it before I could even reach for my wallet. I had forgone the purse tonight, as I knew I was going to be drinking. I only ever remember to grab one thing at a bar – purse or coat. I don't know why, it was a weird little quirk of mine.

I figured adding a third thing to the list – sword – was a bad idea all around. So I'd jammed some money and my driver's licence to act as ID along with me Immie Card into the pocket of my jacket.

My sword, along with Adam's Ivanhoe and Mac's (gorgeous!) katana were under our table at our feet. We'd thought about putting them on the top of the table, where they'd be easy to grab, if needed, but it made the waitress avoid us, and that was bad all around.

I wondered if sometime Mac would let me play with his sword…erm… in the non-sexual sense.

"So what happened to the Vigilante?" Mac asked, drawing me out of my thoughts and back into the conversation.

Adam shrugged. "I don't know, actually. I always kinda figured I knew who she was, but I never stuck around. I did a few more months as Doctor Helm, and felt that enough time had passed for me to try to travel again without getting spotted by the Watchers. They all thought I was dead, y'see. Of course," he slurred. "Spain was gettin' full of facists fas-fast, so I high-tailed it to Am-er-i-ka."

I laughed at his verbal blunders and the giggling fit carried me away. His speech seemed funny enough for me to realize that I was also well and truly sloshed.

"Ah shit," I sighed as I finally got the laughter under control. "I got a damned class in the morning."

Duncan looked concerned. "Should I take you home?"

"Pfft," I waved the thought away. "It's World War Two English History. Dude, I was _there_ for it."

Mac nodded and poured me another beer. "Weren't we all? It was a hard one to stay out of."

"I wasn't," Adam said, slouching down in his chair. "I found me a nice cave and _hid_."

"Coward," I said, but it wasn't mean-spirited.

"Survivor," he corrected. "I suppose the government will want to start an Immortal faction of the army soon enough."

"Now _that's_ a scary thought," I agreed. "I have no desire to be drafted."

Mac nodded over his own beer. "It's what I'm working with the UN to prevent."

"Here, here!" Adam said, and lifted a glass to Mac. "To avoiding conflicts!"

We toasted to that. Then Duncan raised his pint and said, "To the momentum of the future."

We toasted to that. They turned their eyes to me, one pair greeny and glassy, one brown and serious.

"To skipping classes!" I said, and raised my glass.

"Here, here!" Adam crowed and joined the toast. Mac laughed and clinked his glass against mine. In a corner of the bar, a table of students roared their assent.

We all drank.

* * *

Sometime around dawn I looked up and wondered where the hell I was.

And who the hell I was lying on.

I sat up, accidentally jamming the heel of my hand under a ribcage as I tried to get my balance. The man under me woofed out a pained groan and one eyelid peeled back to glare at me.

"What was that for?" Adam asked, sitting up. He cradled me on his lap as he shifted backwards on the couch to rest the small of his back against the armrest.

"Where are we?" I asked groggily, rubbing one eye with my hand. Mascara and eyeliner came away on my knuckle and I frowned at it. I probably looked like a racoon, now.

"My couch," Adam said, coughing once to clear his throat. He looked out the window. "Around sunrise."

"How the hell'd we get here?"

He smiled and ran on hand down my arm, from shoulder to wrist. Then he took my hand and twined his fingers in mine. "Can't hold your Smithwicks very well, can you?"

"I can too," I protested and squeezed his fingers. "I was just trying to keep up with a booze hound like you."

He smiled and shook his head. "Word of advice. _Never_ try to keep up with me."

"Yeah," I rubbed the bridge of my nose where a headache was starting to blossom. "Kinda figuring that out. So why am I on your couch? On you?"

"We were making out and you fell asleep on me."

I stared at him with wide eyes. "You're lying."

"I am not."

"I passed out mid kiss?"

He shrugged. "Something like that."

I groaned. "I'm mortified."

"Want me to kiss it better?"

I fish-eyed him. "Do you have a class to teach tomorrow?"

"No."

"Then, yes please."

* * *

When Monday afternoon rolled on, and I finally extricated myself from Adam, I got on the bus and went to my evening class. I finally felt confident getting onto the bus with all those other 'normal' people.

The other passengers stared at me and at my sword.

I stuck out my tongue at them.

It seemed a fair trade.

* * *

Author's Note:

The Swordbearer Writer's Circle is now open! The link is in my bio - go, read, write, join!


	15. Grey Suits

Swordbearer

Chapter Fifteen: "Grey Suits"

* * *

October 23rd, 2006 – evening

I made it up to the university with minimal fuss.

If people were staring on the bus, I didn't notice.

I even made it to class on time.

Which, given the state of my dress ('sword on the _outside'_ I had to keep reminding myself) was a tiny miracle. I waited to be stopped by Dart, or by security, or by a professor, or by Phoey.

Or _somebody_.

I expected to have to elbow my way through a crowded corridor.

Instead, people stepped back out of my way.

Mmm. Clear hall.

First time in years I hadn't had to fight my way to class through masses of plodding students.

Hm.

Maybe there was an upside to this whole VWL, after all.

* * *

Somewhere below my feet, Professor Martin was engaged in conversation with a man in a grey suit.

"—and the university okayed the hiring of an Immortal?" Grey Suit was asking. He was sitting on Professor Martin's desk, on hip hitched up on the edge, knees crossed.

"He was the best qualified," Martin defended.

"Of course, we won't begrudge him that," Grey Suit said. He shifted and there was a drawn out silence as he appeared to collect his thoughts. "And the other one?"

"Abigail Deidre?"

"Yes."

Martin shrugged. "Good student, nice girl. A little bit defensive and always has been."

"Hm," Grey Suit said and thought again.

"She's, uh," Martin offered lamely, "she's fighting with her Watcher right now. I mean, so I hear. Never talked to, uh, the student... man acting as a student... whatever. I thought they were just friends but rumour says that he's her Watcher and they're fighting. Which I already said."

Grey Suit thought about this a little more. "Okay," he finally said, rising to his feet. The hem of his pants fell gracefully to hide his socks and all but the pointed tips of his shiny black dress shoes.

He moved towards the door and Professor Martin stood. "I...uh, I hope I didn't just get the kid in trouble with the Council."

Grey Suit turned to smile at Professor Martin. He kept one hand on the doorknob. His teeth were white and even and the smile almost too brilliant to be real. Maybe it was.

"Oh, no," Grey Suit said. "No, Mr. Small is not in trouble with ... _us_. The Council has become far more, well, _lax_ in such matters since the MacLeod/Dawson incident."

"Okay. I'm relieved." He indeed looked it.

Grey Suit released the handle and came forward to place a firm, reassuring hand on Professor Martin's shoulder. "You just keep doing what you're doing, Professor," he said through another brilliant smile. "We appreciate your efforts tremendously."

"Oh. Thank you," Professor Martin said, somewhat meekly, smiling back, but his smile lacked the voltage of the other man's.

Grey Suit patted his shoulder once and squeezed, just that little bit too hard. "You'll make a fine Watcher one day."

This time the smile and his words were genuine when Martine repeated his "thank you!"

"No," Grey Suit said over his shoulder as he left the room, "thank _you_."

* * *

Garret was waiting for me outside of the classroom.

He was standing by the door, hands held loosely in his coat pockets. He didn't have any books or a backpack with him. In fact, he hardly looked like a student anymore.

He was dressed in tasteful slacks and a fashionable tee shirt under a blazer.

I had seen Garret gussied up before but this was the first time he had really looked... adult.

I wondered just how old he was, anyway. Did the Watchers recruit undergrads?

I paused by the door myself, standing right in front of him, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of my sword, the other wrapped tightly around my textbooks and binder. We stared at each other for a few moments.

Long, silent ones.

Finally I said, "Well?"

He jammed his hands deeper into his pockets and frowned a little, "I ... just wanted to see you so... so I could tell you that... I've withdrawn from the University."

That made me raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, seeing as I wasn't attending to get a degree – I already have one, you see – I figured I might as well save the Council the tuition fees."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "That's thoughtful of you. I'm surprised you can be that thoughtful."

My words were like a slap across the face. He reacted as if I _had_ slapped him, blinking and taking a step backwards. Then his scowl deepened.

"You don't have to be such a fucking bitch," he hissed under his breath, mindful of the small crowd gathering around us. "You can hate me and still be polite."

The second eyebrow rose to join the first. I was feeling particularly mean-spirited. "Who said I hate you?"

It was his turn to snort. "Fucking wonderful way to show me that you care, then. Denounce me and everything I've ever done with my life as the purposeless pryings of a group of 'peeping tom sickos'; reject me the instant you find out my occupation, then return my declaration of affection by fucking the first new Immortal that wanders into town. Oh, yes, I can see that you care."

I felt my dander bristling and sucked in a growling breath. "Now wait just a damn minute--!"

"No!" he bellowed. Everyone in the hall stopped what they were doing to stare at us. He grabbed my elbow and yanked me down the corridor towards a deserted seminar room. He shoved me inside with more force than I thought he had in him, and shut the heavy door behind us.

I stumbled a little, shocked by both his sudden rage and the shove, but quickly regained my balance, both mental and physical.

I threw my books down on the desk and turned to face him. Fine – he wanted a knock-down drag-out fight? He'd bloody _get _one. "First of all!" I screamed back at him, my finger like a dagger aimed at his nose, "I think you'd be pretty wigged to know that you supposed _best friend_ was among the one group of people you thought had _no fucking business_ prying into your life! Second, let's go back to the _best friend_ part, the part where I'm supposed to be able to _trust you!_" My voice had risen in pitch until I knew I was shrieking shrilly enough and loud enough that I most definitely had to be interrupting lectures. I didn't care. "How am I supposed to trust you when the person I knew was a total fucking falsehood! Third, _where the fuck did that just come from!_ You just confess your undying love and expect me to fall ass over teakettle in love with you on the spot?"

Garret's hands were out of his pockets and fisted against his thighs. "You didn't seem to mind the kiss!"

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, frustrated beyond words. "Yeah, _and?"_

Garret took a menacing step forward and before I had meant to do it, my sword was unsheathed and pointing at the hollow of his throat. "Don't even think about getting close to me with that face on, buddy." I hissed.

Garret stood his ground, chin lifted, hands white-knuckled balls by his side. "You're only sleeping with Pierson to make me angry," he said and he sounded so damn sure of himself.

Cocky even.

Like he really was my boyfriend and I'd slept with Adam to make him jealous.

As if.

"Who _says_ I'm fucking him?" I snarled. "Did it _ever _occur to you that maybe we're just hanging out? You know, freak to freak?"

Garret snorted again. "You think you're the only Immortal with a Watcher?" The words were pure venom, meant to get revenge for my quip about his inability to be considerate.

This time it felt like I was the one who had been slapped.

I felt my mouth drop open and stared at him with sheer stunned anger. It quickly melted into confusion and hurt.

"Abby, oh, God, Abby, I didn't mean--"

I pressed the blade forward slightly. The tip scraped against the skin over his Adam's apple and the words died in his throat.

My own voice was harsh and raw when I spoke. "I thought you said that Watchers don't watch that kind of stuff."

Garret looked like he was about to shake his head, remembered the blade, and thought better of it. If he shook too vigorously, he may end up slitting his own throat, and he knew it.

"We don't, Abs. But Pierson's Watcher said that you... well, you went into his apartment at sunset and came out in the morning in the same clothes. What was I supposed to think?"

"You're _not_," I said and accented my displeasure with an almost imperceptible twist of my sword. The tip nicked against his skin but did not cut. "You're not supposed to think anything of it. You have no part in it, and no say in who I date or don't. You have no fucking claim to me!"

"Abby!"

"All you're supposed to do is be a good little Peeping Tom and shut the fuck up and stand in the shadows with your goddamned camera and your goddamned fucking notebook and forget that I _ever called you my friend_. You're supposed to be my Watcher – so go fucking watch and _leave me the fuck alone."_

The empty classroom rang with the last echoes of my furied words.

Garret sucked in a few deep breaths, as if he was hyperventilating.

I took a step back from him and forced the muscles that had tensed in preparation for a physical fight to unknot.

I slid the sword back into my sheath and stalked out of the room, pausing only long enough to retrieve my books.

I heard the suppressed 'hic' sounds of someone crying (but trying not to) in the room behind me as I slammed the door shut after me. I didn't care.

I didn't.

* * *

Professor Martin was late for lecture.

So was I.

* * *

"I heard your fight with Garret this evening," Adam said as I let myself into his office. The coffee was already brewing and I had been able to smell it from the hall. It was what had made me stop and knock on his door.

He'd said that he didn't have to come into work tonight, so I assumed either he had remembered something he had to do, or he had come to pick me up.

I wasn't sure if I wanted it to be the latter or not.

That would indicate that we were... a couple.

Were we?

I didn't know.

The memory of Garret's kiss was still fresh in my mind, although the residual anger from this evening's blow-out was negatively colouring it.

In the window behind Adam, I could see the sun setting. It painted his hair gold and for an absurd moment, gave him a halo of wisdom. The eyes that looked out at me seemed for a brief second far older and wiser than his eighty years.

I shook my head clear of the anger-induced illusions.

I plopped down in the chair before his desk "You heard about my fight? Who told you?"

"I said I _heard_ it, not heard _about_ it." He shrugged and poured me a cup. As he handed it to me he added, "I think the whole campus did."

"Fan-bloody-tastic," I said and accept the cup.

He returned to hi seat behind the desk and said, "You know, I really do think you're being to hard on him."

"Yeah, maybe," I said non-committedly.

"You know, Mac was pretty mad with Joe when he first found out," Adam ventured, sipping his own coffee. "Threatened him with all manner of nastiness if Joe ever came near Mac again."

I had to admit I was mildly intrigued and said, "And?"

"And Joe did – until Mac needed his help. In accepting help from Joe, Mac learned that Watchers were indeed human, too."

"I don't doubt that Garret's human," I snarked.

Adam stood and came around the desk and laid his hands gently on my shoulders. He pressed his thumbs against the taut muscles in my neck, tight from stress and high emotion. I sighed and sank back into his touch.

"You can't bribe me," I said.

His hands lifted away fractionally. "Oh, shall I stop then?"

"Hell, no."

"Ah." He went back to work. ""I was a Watcher once too, you know," he said softly. He ran the tips of his long fingers over my eyebrows when I pulled them down in an expression of annoyance. "We're not 'peeping tom sickos'. They're just mortals protecting the best interests of the species."

"I _know_ that," I said. "I just... Okay, if my Watcher had been anyone else, I think I could have dealt with it. But Garret was supposed to be my _friend_."

"Isn't he still? Joe and Mac are friends. I'm friends with Joe. Hell, I went through Watchers Academy with Linus, my Watcher. I sent him a fruit basket on Christmas last year."

"And what did he do for you?"

"Left me a little letter telling me to get the Hell out of town – a Headhunter was on the way."

"Good gift."

"Yup."

He moved the delicious pressure on my neck further down my back. "So, let me get this straight," he said, "You're furious at Garret because he was your friend."

I made a frustrated sound and set aside the coffee to gesture emphatically with my hands. "It's just that...well... the person I knew, the person I thought I could trust... isn't even the person I thought he was. It's like I've been friends for three years with a shadow. I don't know who he is, even through I've entrusted some of my deepest secrets, my biggest fears, to him."

"But not the one that mattered. Not even when the world found out about us did you tell him, You waited until there was no other choice."

"If he hadn't been a Watcher then it would have scared him."

"But he was. Don't you think that maybe if you had trusted him with your secret, he may have trusted you?"

"Or maybe not!"

"Yeah, or maybe not, but that's not the point. You feel betrayed because everything Garret was is a lie. But he probably feels equally betrayed – you were supposed to be his friend. Why didn't you tell him the most important thing until you absolutely had to?"

I sat up abruptly, shoving Adam's hands away. "I don't want to hear this," I said, rising to my feet. "I'm leaving."

I turned to do just that, then yelped in surprise as I felt Adam's lean body slam into mine. He pushed me backwards, bending me over the desk, hands slamming down to pin my wrists to the blotter, legs on either side of my hips to keep me from wriggling.

I didn't struggle.

I just stared at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

His eyebrows turned down and he glared at me out of those piercing eyes.

"You are _not_ leaving," he said. "You are going to _listen _to me."

"Gerrof!" I growled.

"No."

This time I did try to struggle, but Adam had superior strength and leverage.

"You listen to me," he said. "You're acting like a spoiled brat. So the guy that you're friends with is your Watcher, so what? He's still Garret. You're tearing him to shreds, Abs."

"I don't care!"

A small smirk twisted the corner of Adam's lip. "You're a bloody awful liar. This is tearing you up just as much as it is him."

I glared in defiance at Adam.

He was wrong.

I didn't miss Garret.

I didn't.

I was _mad_ at him.

He had lied to me.

He was an awful friend.

I felt the tell-tale burning behind my eyes a fraction of a second too late and blinked rapidly to try to will away the tears. I swallowed heavily, but they came anyway, spilling over my eyelashes and making a path down my cheeks.

Adam pulled me up and pressed me against his chest, and I sobbed into his shirt, my wails muffled against his increasingly-damn sweater. He pressed one hand against the back of my head in a gesture of comfort, laid his cheek against my head, and rubbed up and down my back with his other hand. He made soft "shhhhhuhhh" sounds.

Eventually the tears subsided into sniffles and Adam pulled back to look at me.

"You should go talk to him. Apologize," Adam said softly and I only nodded. "He's your best friend, you deserve to still be friends, despite his occupation."

"Yeah," I said softly. "I guess he didn't _have _to be my friend."

"He chose to be your friend because he wanted to be, not because he was assigned to be your Watcher."

I laughed, but it held no mirth. "You're good at this."

"What?"

"This comforting weeping women thing. Most men head for the hills."

Adam chuckled and hugged me close again. "I'm had many years of experience."

"Hah."

We held each other silently for a long, comfortable moment. I enjoyed the feel of his body heat seeping through his sweater and into my own skin. I could hear his heartbeat and I'm sure he could hear mine.

Adam tilted his head slightly and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead.

"I have one last question to ask you," he said softly. "If Garret hadn't been your Watcher, would you have rejected his ...attention?"

I fish-eyed Adam. "By which you mean – am I going to drop you like a hot coat and go boff Garret instead?"

He chuckled. "Rather more blunt that I would have put it, but... yes."

I shook my head slowly. "Even if he wasn't my Watcher, I just don't see myself with Garret."

"He's been in love with you for years."

"Which hardly infects me with the same feeling. I just found out that my best friend has had the hots for me. I just don't reciprocate."

"At least you admit that he's your friend again."

I sighed, enjoying the slightly spicy scent of his aftershave. "Yeah."

He pushed me a little bit and manoeuvred us until I was sitting on the edge of his desk, the inside of my thighs pressing against the outside of his. "If I hadn't been here, do you think you would have accepted Garret?"

"That's hardly a fair question," I said. "You're here now."

"Mmmm," he said, and bent his head to touch his lips to mine.

The kiss quickly deepened and I could taste coffee and Irish cream on his tongue. He'd laced his coffee.

He pressed me backwards again and this time I didn't fight against him.

"Are you seriously trying to get some nooky in your office with a student?" I teased after we broke away from each other for air.

"I wouldn't be the first Professor." His hand slip up my leg and wormed under my shirt.

I eyed the monstrosity of a scuffed wooden desk that sat under us. "Think this desk has been Christened yet?" I asked him in a low, sultry voice.

"Dunno," he said back, smiling. "I guess we better make sure. Wouldn't want the other desks to tease it."

"Indeed."


	16. There Can Be Only One

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Chapter 16: "There Can Be Only One"

October 24th, 2006

* * *

An early cold snap hit southern Ontario like a fist in the gut.

It forced all of us, mortals and Immortals alike, to bury our noses in our scarves, sniffle like sickies, and jam our hands into our pockets.

It was the kind of weather that Immortals loved and hated with an equal passion.

Loved, because it meant a sort of seasonal reprieve from The Game. Challengers were discouraged in the face of biting winds – no one wanted to get hot and sweaty in combat, their jackets flapping open, knowing the cold was waiting to knife into you the moment you stopped.

Hated, 'cause it was damned freezing.

The bus ride up to the school left me shivering and chattering the next afternoon, and I was glad that the busses dropped us directly at the doors into the school. I headed straight for the coffee line, and gawkers be damned.

I'd begun to learn that resting a hand on my hilt and glaring stonily tended to make stare-ers realize that they suddenly had something better to do. It also shortened the line for Tim Horton's considerably, I realized.

Half of the students took one glance at me, went ghost white, and vanished.

Sweet as.

Smiling for the first time in days, I patiently waited my turn, whistling a Queen song about living forever. _I sure as hell do,_ I thought. Yup – living forever sounded pretty darn good. It meant none of that messy decapitation stuff, which was large on the unpleasant.

And speaking of unpleasant...

What's-her-face from Phooey walked up and simpered at me, just over my shoulder. Melinda? Melerna? Marika? Marcie, Macie, Mandy, Mackie, Mina... bugger...

I turned to look at her. "What's your name again?"

She beamed, just because I was talking directly to her. Disgusting. "Miranda."

"Right, Miranda. What can I do you for, Miranda?" _What can I do for you so you will go away and leave me alone and never speak to me ever again your pervy little weirdo?_

She twisted her hands and sort of stepped on her own toes over and over again, clearly a sign of either nerves or insanity. I wasn't sure where my money would go down.

"Anytime now," I prompted, but softened my tone. I didn't need a reputation as a _total _bitch.

"Well, we sorta, I mean, the local chapter of FOI and me, we sorta wanted to say... sorry. You were right, it was a little ... invasive."

I nodded. "Great. Okay. Thanks. Have a good day." I turned away from her and paid attention to the line again. I was two people away from the cashier and watching the last chocolate covered donut carefully.

It _would_ be mine.

"Um," she said, and I rolled my eyes.

I knew it had been too easy.

"Yes?" I turned to look at her again, arched an eyebrow, and slid one hand down to rest lightly on the pommel of my hilt, a subtle, silent warning. Not like I'd really un-sheathe on her ass, but it made my annoyance clear.

Or it would have if she hadn't been staring into my face like a harlequin heroine, thus missing the powerful gesture completely. Everyone else around us saw and took an abrupt step or five back.

"Um," she began again. "We... some guy came to talk to us."

I snorted. "Some guy? You'll have to be more specific. I know lots of 'some guys'."

"Small."

I frowned. God_dammit_ Garret. "And?"

Miranda ceased fidgeting and tried to meet my hot gaze steadily. It raised her about half a notch in my mind. For a full notch, she'd have to spit it out already.

"Well, he said that, um, we were supposed to tell you that they changed his living accommodations. He'd had to report the fight between the two of you, so they made him move and get a new phone and stuff."

"They?" the second eyebrow rose to match the first. "As in, the Peeping Toms Sickos?"

"The _Watchers_," Miranda corrected, clearly appalled by my nick-name for them. The rebuke was on her tongue, I saw it, but she swallowed it quickly. Clearly a case of hero-worship mixed with fear of me. I liked the latter well enough, but I couldn't quite figure her reasoning for the former. "And he told us to tell you that if you wanted to talk to him you can find me and do it that way."

I frowned at her, the dark annoyance, the fiery anger that had been present for the last three days flaring up. Yesterday evening's time with Adam and his desk had soothed the hurts into mildly glowing embers. Garret's name was like a bellows.

"And _what_," I hissed between clenched teeth, "makes him think that I _want_ to speak to him?"

I jerked my gaze around the crowd, half expecting to see him in large dark sunglasses, blending in with the early-afternoon crowd. The anger made me hotter and I jerked at the scarf around my neck, the wool suddenly too warm and itchy. He wasn't there.

Miranda frowned and her spine straightened. I returned my attention to her, surprised that she could screw up her courage this much.

"You are an unbelievable _bitch_," she said. "I don't know why I ever thought you were cool."

With a dramatic flick of her hair, she stomped off down the hall in her ridiculously short skirt.

_Cool? Ha._

I sighed loud and long, trying to expel my frustration with the sound. The woman behind the counter was staring at me with wide eyes, waiting silently for my order.

I was really really annoyed now, and there was only one thing that could make that annoyance go away. A coffee and a chocolate donut. Before I could open my mouth, I felt a buzzing headache and a tall thin body cut in front of mine.

"Too slow," Adam scolded teasingly. The mere sight of his manic smile was enough to erase the grey cloud that had settled over me with the arrival of Miranda the brain-cell reject. "I refuse to stand here and wait for you to make up your mind – one chocolate donut, please."

The lady behind the counter turned and took away my precious treat.

"No way!" I said, punching him in the arm. He winced, but I hadn't hit him that hard. "That was so mine! You saw me eyeing it!"

He stuck out his tongue at me and dropped the dollar into the woman's hand. I tried to grab it from his hands, and he took a skipping step backwards. I dashed out of line after him, determined to wrest my prize from him.

He went on his tiptoes and took a bite of the donut. I whined. "Gimmie."

He grinned and bent his head to steal a kiss. His lips tasted like chocolate icing. He took another skipping step backwards and had a second large bite.

"You bloody tease!" I pursued him, and he stepped back again.

"Mmuph," he said, doughy chocolate crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth.

We were in the middle of the hallway, now, students starting to crowd around us in a circle, interested in the game he was playing with me. With a sly grin, the last morsel of the chocolaty treat vanished into his mouth and he gave me a wide, closed-mouth grin as he chewed.

"That's it buster!" I cried with forced passion and drew my sword. His eyes grew wide and for a split second, I could see his real belief that I was about to Challenge him. Around us, the mortals shifted uneasily, murmurs sweeping the crowd. "There Can Be Only One ... chocolate donut eater!"

He puffed out a laugh, accompanied by a liberal spray of crumbs.

"Gah! Donut-waster!" I wailed. "Your head is mine, you heathen!"

I lunged, but I did it as such a ridiculously slow speed that I knew he'd have enough time to unsheathe his own sword and block. To the crowd around us, it may have seemed fast, but I was broadcasting my moves so clearly that Adam would have to be blind and dumb to miss defending himself.

He brought his Ivanhoe down lazily, creating a deliberate clanging sound with the flat of his blade. I let myself be pushed to the side, did a little twirl, and lunged for his gut. He skipped backwards again, laughing harder. I lunged, he jumped, I lunched, he jumped.

We were herding each other, and the crowd, down the wide hall and towards the double glass doors that led to the courtyard behind the gym. When we got there, he parried, spun on his heel, pushed open the door with his palm, and bowed to me, all chivalry.

I snorted and lunged, taking the wide opening though the door, and he sidestepped, letting the door go, only to twist and come back around at me in a move like a rapier flick. "Mixing styles?" I said, and he chuckled.

"As if you're not – I caught that bit of Kendo."

That earned him a swing at the head, which he skilfully ducked. Using the momentum of the motion, he swung out a leg and brought me neatly to my arse.

"Oof!" I said, landing on my seat on the cold paving stones. Neither of us were winded from the fight in the least, but Adam was still bent double, gasping for air, high on his cheeks rosy with exertion.

He bastard was _laughing_.

"You know, that one sort of hurt," I complained, if only to suppress my own chuckles.

He pressed the flat of his blade against my shoulder lightly. It was close enough to my neck to make his teasing meaning clear, but not near enough to be threatening. "I could get rid of the pain."

"Bet you could," I agreed and leaned over for another chocolaty kiss.

Wolf whistles and cheers erupted from the by-standers, and instead of letting me pull away, Adam pulled me closer, deciding to give them a show.

_Wow_.

When we came up for air, I tapped his nose lightly with a finger tip and said, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was no way an eighty year old man could kiss like _that_."

"Oh?"

"Takes at least a century to be that good."

He smiled. "You've been practicing with centennials, then? Cradle-robber."

That earned another snort, and he helped me to my feet. I made a shooing motion to the crowd, sheathing my sword, and Adam followed suit. The message was clear enough – show's over.

After a universal reluctant pause, people began to disperse in all directions, and the enclosed area was a flurry of movement.

In three separate areas of the courtyard, the utter stillness of three separate people caught my attention.

By the glass double doors stood a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a sombre yet natty grey suit. He was watching us both with narrowed eyes and an expressionless face. As I met his gaze, he turned on his heel and went back inside.

Behind the doors stood Garret, once more in jeans and a blazer. He didn't wear any spy-like dark sunglasses. His face was easier to read – in fact, it was loud and clear.

Hurt. Anger. And just in the corner of his eye – resignation.

Something sharp and hot twisted in my chest, and I forced myself to look away and at the third person. He was no longer still, a huge grin splitting his face and the camera swinging free around his neck.

_Dammit_.

Dart was coming towards us, pulling from his pocket a pen and a scrap of paper that looked like it had once been a paper air-plane made out of a course syllabus.

"Totally cool," he said. "Wanna finish that interview?"

"Not particularly," I said.

Adam elbowed me in the gut. "I was going to demand kinky sexual favours in return for not taking your head," he said, "But I want you to talk to Dart instead. _Civilly_," he added when he saw the stubborn pout I'd begun.

"Fine," I said.

Adam grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. "You're a very nice person, Abby," he said softly. "I really do enjoy the time we spend together. It's just this whole VWL is making you cranky. Talk to Dart, take a few deep breaths, and for goodness sake, stop turning into a pouting child every time you see Garret. He's your Watcher – he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

Before I could protest or snark back, Adam kissed me softly on the lips. Well, he certainly had learned how to shut me up. I felt his hand slip into my front pocket. I pulled away and frowned at him. He winked and walked away, sliding his sword into the sheath strapped across his back.

I reached into my pocket.

It was a Hershey's kiss.

_Damn._

I was starting to think that Adam was going to be a keeper.


	17. Slipup

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Chapter Seventeen: "Slip-up"

* * *

October 28th, 2006

"Oh, yeah, that's her," Miranda told the man in the grey suit. "She always goes to that party with her boyfriend, Garret. Do you know her boyfriend, Garret? Turns out he's her _Watcher_, and I mean, just how romantic is _that_?"

"So her watcher is her boyfriend?" the man in the grey suit clarified.

"Well, yeah, I think so," Miranda said. "Um, I mean, he totally digs her and they always go to the Howl together, so, yeah, maybe. I mean, like, she's been hanging out with this _other_ guy, but, you know, her Watcher is totally into her so I bet they'll go together."

"But he will be with her?"

"Doi," she said.

And the man smiled.

* * *

October 31st, 2006

A week came and went with relative quiet.

Phoey didn't bug me. Adam bought me a whole box of chocolate donuts of my very own. Dart published the article and it was actually half decent. I only had to autograph it three times, which made me very pleased.

The only three times part, not the autographing.

WTF, you know? Who the hell cares who I am? What, I'm famous, you want my autograph, just because I, hey, _exist?_ Doi.

Now, the dating policy between students and teachers at the school was Nil. That is to say, if a prof and a student were caught dating, that's the grade the student would get, and the monetary compensation the professor would receive upon getting his or her ass fired.

However. The university had yet to touch Adam and I. It had become more or less apparent, after our little bout in the courtyard over the donut, that we were together. The President of Brock just didn't quite know what to do with us. Policy stated that I should be booted and Adam should be fired.

But we were both Immortal, and technically speaking, _I _was older, so it wasn't as if my professor was taking advantage of me. In fact, thinking back to the nights I'd spent in Adam's more-comfortable-than-mine bed, the mornings in his hotter-water-for-longer-than-mine shower and sitting in his office drinking his better-and-cheaper-than-Tim-Hortons-in-that-my-boyfriend-doesn't-make-me-pay-$1.40-per-cup coffee, I'd definitely say that it was me taking advantage of him.

The most we got was a stern letter reminding us that Swordplay was, in fact a Bad Thing to be doing in a crowded courtyard filled with Mortal students, and if we Ever Did It Again we'd get fined. At the bottom was a little PS that said, "Um. Please do not make your relationship too public. You are still a prof and a student."

For Adam's part, he thought the letter was a hoot. He framed it and put it up on the wall in his office. I thought it was kinda funny, too, but only after he had started to laugh at it.

The professor he was taking over would be leaving for her maternity soon, so Adam began to spend more and more time at the school. Oddly enough, his schedule seemed to be the same as mine.

We would take the bus up together about an hour before whatever class I had, then he would head to his office to meet with students, check his correspondence, or do some brush-up or prep-work before he took over the lectures.

I would go to class, and meet him in his office after. We would have coffee, talk, and then I would take off to my next class. I became an awful slacker in that week, choosing to skip classes and avoid doing readings in favour of going out to a bar with him, or cuddling on his couch and watching bad B-movies with names like "Attack of the Son of the Fifty-Foot Ant-Woman!"

Always with two exclamation points, of course.

Adam was now comfortable enough with putting his feet in my lap, and would often wiggle both his toes and his eyebrows in a hopeful manner.

"I'm not massaging your feet," I would tell him.

"But I have sexy feet," he would protest. "I was told they were the sexiest feet to ever be feet."

"Which is a good thing, considering that's what they are?"

"Well, they'd be very ugly hands," he'd agree.

"Okay," I'd say, "I'll massage your feet when you can make a whole meal and not burn it."

And he would grimace, and I would laugh, and we'd go back to watching the movie.

On the Thursday, I gave my guest lecture on the difference between History as seen first person and History as what's recorded in the text books. I didn't have many anecdotes, but Adam helped me round out the two hour talk with witticisms he'd read in various Immortal's Chronicles during his time as a Watcher.

I should have felt guilty for using stories of other people's life, but hey, they were funny, and I didn't have any better.

The only thing that really bothered me, and it bugged me all to heck that I _was_ bothered, was the fact that Garret and I had not spoken for nearly a month.

Which was exactly how I wanted it, mind you, don't get me wrong. I _liked_ that the Peeping Tom Sicko wasn't nagging me, or making moon eyes, or... you know, even existing within my view-space.

But there were times, little things, where I'd think, "Hey, I should remind Garret that.." or "I bet Gar would find that really funny..." or "Bored now. I should call Gar."

Then I would remember that he was Evil and I Was Not Talking To Him.

Hallowe'en was here. I hated to admit it, but the day just made me miss Garret more. Every year, we had gone to the campus bar's Hallowe'en Howl as something together. Our first year, we were Bangers and Mash (he was a Mosh Pit Reject, and I pasted Monster Mash cards all over me). Our second year, we had been Pizza and Beer (he borrowed a Domino's Pizza Delivery boy uniform, and I bought one of those tiny Budweiser bikinis). Last year we had been Cheese and a Mouse (He wore the stockings, body suit and the bitty tail and cute ears, and I had worn the Cheese Head foam hat from the football team.)

This year we had planned to be a Hot Air Balloon (he was going to go as a politician, and I was going in a straightjacket.)

Obviously, not happening this year.

Instead, Adam let me dress him up in too much tinfoil and seeing as I had to bring my sword, I made a huge fork out of more tinfoil and a pitchfork and we went as Thanksgiving leftovers and the person about to eat it.

Adam thought it was the darned funniest thing he had ever done. I thought it was a pretty decent idea, but not my best. Garret was usually the one who came up with the funny costumes.

We arrived at the bar fashionably late – about an hour after it opened. For ten bucks, we got our booze bracelets and ballots to enter the costume contest. If we won, we'd win two tickets to see some local band that had made it big in Toronto. They were called "Oliver Black", and I vaguely recalled rocking out to them at a house party that Garret had dragged me to back in...

And damn if there he was in my thoughts again.

In an effort to drive my Watcher out of my head, I dragged Adam to the dance floor. He flopped around a bit, crinkling in his tinfoil, shaking his hips in a way that I was sure had never been fashionable, even when he had been a mortal. I took pity on him and pulled him over to the bar.

"You danced the swing so well!" I had to shout over the music.

"This stuff has no beat!" Adam protested.

I pointed at the band on the stage. "Sure it does! There's a drummer right there!"

"He looks as confused as I am!"

I laughed and he pointed towards the 'Toilet' sign. "Gotta go shift the tinfoil," he said. "The dancing put it places it shouldn't be!"

"I'll get you a beer?" I asked. It was a question, but we both knew it was a rhetorical one.

Adam nodded and made his way through the crowd. I laughed at the sight of him, a big ball of silver with an Ivanhoe like a foil toothpick sticking out the back. I set my huge fork against the bar and sheathed my sword at my side.

"Clever costume," came a cultured voice beside me and I turned to who it was.

A man I didn't recognize stood beside me. He was dressed all in grey. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't recall where I had seen it before. "Thanks," I said. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Serial Killer," he said, smiling thinly.

"Because they look just like everyone else," I finished for him. I caught the eye of the bartender and help up two fingers. "What you drinking?" I asked the man.

"Beer."

I held up a third finger. The bartender nodded and turned to the fridge in the wall behind him.

"You sure don't look like a student here," I said as we waited for our drinks. "You a prof? What you teach?"

His thin grin got toothier and I was struck with a sudden feeling of... not-rightness. There was something inherently creepy about this guy. Immediately my mind said, _sleaze-bag. He's here to pick up some poor college chick. Probably convince her to make a 'movie' in a hotel room_.

"I don't teach," he said. "Not any more. I retired from the teaching aspect of my field some time ago, I'm afraid."

"Kids drive you nuts?" I asked, fishing for more information. If this guy really was some sleaze, I could get the bouncers to take care of him. For now, I didn't mind distracting him. Not like he could do anything to me permanently, right?

"Something like that," he said. "More that the subject matter became distasteful. Although there is one problem student that I wouldn't mind meeting again."

"Uh-huh," I said. "So what's a suit like you doing at a university drunk-a-thon?"

"I could ask the same of you," he said, his piercing eyes going immediately to my sword.

"I'm a student," I said.

"And the man in the tinfoil with the sword sticking out like a toothpick? Is he a student too?"

"He's my boyfriend, not that it's really any of your business." I was beginning to dislike this man intensely. Time to wrap this up, grab my beers, and go tip off the security. They couldn't throw him out, because he hadn't said anything throw-out-able, but he just oozed a feeling of _predatory_-ness that I'm sure the bouncers had noticed by now.

They would appreciate being told if there was someone they ought to keep an eye on, just in case he tried anything funny or to leave with a very drunk girl.

The man in the grey suit gave me a look that communicated very clearly his opinion of student/teacher dating. It wasn't a favourable one.

"Right," I said as the bartender set down our glasses. "Have a Happy Hallowe'en." I reached for two of them, and Mr. Grey Suit intercepted my hands just above the glasses. "Ex-squeeze-me?" I said, looking pointedly at where he was holding my fingers in his.

"I'm afraid we may have got off on the wrong foot," he said, and this time his smile seemed prepubescent and forced. It was as fake as my old driver's licence and I didn't buy it for a second.

"And we're gonna stay on the wrong foot," I said, prying my hands out of his. "Good night."

"Could I make it up to you?" he asked. "Take you out to a nice place for dinner, maybe? Get you out of here?"

"Try you wiles on someone else, bud," I said. "Or I won't need my boyfriend – you remember him? I mentioned that I have about, oh, five seconds ago? Yeah. I won't need him come and kick your ass. I'll damn well do it myself. And as you've so aptly noted, I do indeed have the training to do so."

"Right," he said, and let go.

I wiped my hands on my pants and shoved them in my pockets. He picked up his own beer, and with a little apologetic nod, vanished into the crowd. I moved my giant fork into a corner where it wouldn't be in the bar's way, grabbed my two beers, and moved to stand beside the bouncer outside of the male washroom.

"See that dork in the grey suit?" I asked.

"The one you were just talking to?" the large man replied.

"Yeah. Keep an eye on him, eh?" I said.

He nodded, a big silent mountain nod, and crossed his hands over his chest.

At length Adam came out of the washroom, and I handed him his beer.

* * *

About ten minutes later, I was leaning against a wall outside the bar with my finger down my throat, trying to puke into the bushes. It wasn't working.

Adam was crouched on the pavement with his palms and forehead pressed against the cool brick wall, swallowing heavily and sweating profusely.

"That goddamned... kkkrghkk... fucking... grey suit-kkkeuah-ed son of a bitch," I sputtered, spitting at the hedge in my frustration at being able to make myself sick. "He bugging slipped a ... ggeeuuahkk... ruffie into my beer."

"Not just yours," he whispered.

I felt my own face breaking out in a damp, pricking sweat. "What the hell?" I asked. "I mean seriously. What the fuck, eh?"

Adam shook his head. "That wasn't a ruffie, Abby."

I felt my joints staring to wobble. I felt like everything inside me was turning to water. I slammed down onto my knees, unable to hold myself upright. I heard a cracking sound and wondered if I'd broken them.

"Then what the hell was it?"

"Get up," Adam said. I don't know if he was saying it to me or to himself, but neither of us were budging, despite our best, swirly-headed efforts.

My guts began to burn, burn with a pain so intense that I had little to compare it to, even after three hundred some-odd years on this planet.

"Adam?" I said, groping along the wall until I could reach him. I wrapped a hand around his arm and with shaking, panicked effort, we managed to get our hands twined together.

"_Get up!_" he hissed and managed to wobble himself up to a precarious position leaning against the wall. I heard the scraping, shrieking protest of his sword being drawn against the brink and the tinfoil.

"Adam?" I asked again, and swallowed heavily. It was suddenly getting hard to breathe. "What the hell is," I had to stop to pant, "... is going... on?"

"_Poison_," Adam hissed.

"Tsk," said a familiar cultured voice behind me. "You're not the Watcher Boyfriend, Mr. Pierson. Does Garret know you're sleeping around on him, Ms. Deidre? Not that _your kind_ has any sort of those kinds of morals."

I heard the hiss of a sword being drawn from a sheath. My head was too heavy to turn.

"Doesn't matter," the man told himself. "I'll take care of the two of you, then I'll go back for that son-of-a-bitch Small. Kindly die now, please."

"You're one of Horton's," Adam panted.

I wished I knew what the hell he meant.


	18. Hallucinations

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: "Hallucinations"

October 31st, 2006 - midnight

* * *

I just wanted it to be over with.

_Take my head or not, I don't fucking care._

_Just stop **speeching** at me._

"I dunna remember yae bein' such a whiner," Donnell said in my ear.

"I've had a bad few weeks. Shut up," I hissed back. "You're dead."

"An you'll be to, if ya nae draw yer sword and kill this grey rat."

"...stain upon all the word! I will erase you abominations from the face of..." chattered the man in the Grey Suit.

"Abs?" Adam hissed out of the side of his mouth. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"Dead husband," I said. "Not now."

Adam's skin was turning a funny dusty colour and I wondered if he was going to keel over soon. I wondered if I was going to keel over soon.

If the poison didn't kill me within the next five minutes, this poncey bastard's rant just might.

"Right," I said. Out loud. I pointed at Grey Suit, who looked annoyed that I had interrupted his Klan moment. "You, shut up and fight." Then I pointed at Donnell. "You shut up and go back to wherever it is that ghosts go."

"Ya canna be rid o'me that easy," he said pleasantly, hands folded behind his back. "I'm waitin' for yae."

"So what, I'm gonna die?"

"Maybe."

"Fuck _that_," I said, and lunged at Grey Suit.

He was almost too shocked by my supposed talking to thin air to parry properly. Almost. He spun out of the way, sword smacking lightly against my own, and the forward momentum of my thrust sent me skidding clumsily along the asphalt.

Well, _you_ try swordfighting while you're being poisoned to death.

Adam was mildly more successful, getting in a few good blows before Grey Suit cracked him on the back of the neck. Adam hit the pavement nose first and I heard it crack. Aw. And it was such a _cute _nose, too.

Both of us were laid flat on the ground, unable to muster the strength to pull ourselves up. My world was swaying, getting darker. Donnell stood patiently at the edge of my vision.

"I never loved you," I told him.

"Yer a liar and ye know it, lass," he said back.

"What?" Adam gagged around a face-full of gore.

"Oh, not you. I still like you fine. _You_. Father made me marry you, but I never loved you. I was happy when you died."

He smiled. "Yer still a liar."

"It didn't hurt to lose you," I insisted.

"Still lyin' lass."

I heard the scrape of a blade ring across the ground. I could feel is shake the asphalt, careen up my spine, making my teeth rattle with the vibrations. It was getting closer, slowly, purposefully coming towards me.

And the arm that wielded that blade belonged to a man who hated me just because I existed.

"Where _is_ that delightful little sonofabitch, Small?" Grey Suit asked. I felt the live edge of sword slip through my hair, shaving off a few locks. "We still have so _much _to discuss."

"_Watching_," I hissed, before turning my attention back to Donnell. "I am _not_ lying. It didn't hurt to loose you. You meant nothing to me, and when you died I didn't feel a thing."

"It tore yae apart to realize tha' I died and ye lived, lass, and there was nothin' yae could do tae bring me back. Tae share what ye had."

"No."

"It hurt when I died."

"No."

"An know yae won't love another for ye fear ta loose them, too. Ya fear the hurt."

"_No."_

"Yes," said Grey suit. "I am going to take your head."

"Oh, shut _up_," I snarled at him and swung my sword up. The tip grazed along his cheek and split the skin. Grey Suit took a startled step back. He raised his hand to his face, touched the cut and winced, then stared at the blood on his fingers. "What, never bled before?"

"Oh, _do_ die," he said and raised his sword above his head.

I closed my eyes.

Donnell said nothing.

Someone fired a gun.

A sword clattered to the ground beside my head. Hot liquid splashed onto my face.

I opened my eyes.

Grey Suit was clutching his hand around a bloody jumble of raw meat. Which used to be his other hand. Oh, ew.

I looked down my nose towards where I had heard the gunshot go off. Garret stood there, arm still slightly askew from the kick of the revolver he held. His tattoo was stark against his pale skin. He looked about as sick as I felt.

"Ah, _there you are_," Grey Suit hissed at Garret. "Took you long enough to come save your bed-warmer."

"Shut up!" Garret snarled, at the same time as Adam's "Hey!" and my "I'm not warming _his_ bed!"

Grey Suit rolled his eyes around his frothing grimace of pain.

"Kill her, Small," Grey Suit said. "Kill her and prove your allegiance to us."

This time Garret rolled his eyes.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said. "Who the hell wrote your script? Hamilton Deane?"

"Kill her!" Grey Suit screeched.

"I've _told_ you," Garret said, straightening his arm. "I want no part of you guys. I'm a Watcher. I _want _Immortals to exist. It's a damn good paycheque."

Adam groaned, tried to roll over onto his back, failed, and groaned again. "What the hell kinda job are you doing that it's a _good _paycheque? I was in the wrong field."

"Besides," Garret went on, "I'm kind of partial to that one."

"Yes, the one who slept with the first Immortal to come along."

"Hey!" I said.

"The lad has a point, ye keen," Donnell noted. "An why an Immortal over the Watcher lad when ye were just as keen to be with the boy? Cause he couldna die on ye?"

"I get the point, stop twisting the knife!" I snapped at my dead husband.

"I don't care," Garret said. "It doesn't matter. I still love her."

"Fuck, I hate this part," Adam groaned, shuddered once, and fell still.

"Goddamn it," I hissed.

And Grey Suit was still fucking bleeding on me.

"Small, I warn you," Grey Suit snapped. "If you are not with us, you are against us. We will wipe them off this planet and then we will go after the Watchers who tried to protect them. They are _monsters_."

"You know, I've heard this speech before," Garret said. His fingers tightened on the butt of the gun briefly. Squeeze, relax, squeeze. "Didn't do much to convince me then. Not doing so much on the convincing now. Your threats, your bribes. It's all as superfluous as ...as..."

"As rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic," I provided helpfully.

"Ooh, good line."

"Thanks."

"Fine then. I'll kill _you_," Grey Suit snarled. Well, at least he had changed tactics, a little.

I slapped him feebly with the flat of my blade. If I'd had the coordination and the strength, I would have chopped off his leg. Eh. "Hey, fuck off," I said. "Leave my damn Watcher alone."

Garret blinked at me. "I thought you hated me."

"I do. I just don't particularly want to see you dead."

"So are you still mad at me?"

"Kinda," I admitted. "Not as much."

"There, that wasna hard now, was it?" Donnell goaded.

The man in the Grey Suit screamed in frustration and bent to retrieve his sword with his non-mangled hand. Garret fired again. The bullet flew over Grey Suit's head. It was a warning shot.

If it had been me, one warning was all this asshole would have got. One warning shot to the hand.

In the distance, I could hear the beginnings of the thin whine of police cars. About damn time. Someone inside the bar must have heard the first gun shot.

Wasn't entirely sure how the cops would come down on this one. Adam was already dead, so would Grey Suit be charged with attempted murder, or full on first degree manslaughter? After all, Adam wasn't going to stay a corpse forever.

Grey Suit heard the sirens too.

He dropped the sword and staggered towards Adam's body. He gripped Adam by the back of his tinfoil and tugged on Adam's empty sword sheath.

"Don't just stand there, you fool!" Grey Suit snarled. "Help me!"

There was a meaty thunk. Garret dropped to the ground. Blood bloomed on the back of his head. He was still breathing, but in shallow pants. The gun fell from his lax fingers, lanced into Adam's leg, and stopped.

_That _was gonna sting when Adam woke up.

If he woke up.

Behind Garret's prone form stood Professor Martin stood, face pale and nervous looking, holding a blackjack.

"Well fuck me sideways," I said. "I thought you _liked _me."

Then breathing became too hard so I decided to stop.

Together, the two mobile humans grabbed Adam and shoved him in an idling car nearby. Grey Suit stripped off his tie and wrapped it around his bloody appendage.

Professor Martin tried to get behind the driver's wheel, and Grey Suit shoved him off and slid in himself. Martin scurried for the passenger side, and barely made it before Grey Suit jammed the gas and the car squealed away.

I couldn't even roll myself enough to catch the licence plate number.

Or the colour, cause, hey,_ dying._

Adam's Ivanhoe lay neglected and forgotten on the pavement. A long, naked scrape ran up the side, from where he had drawn it against the brick wall.

That would need to be pounded out later. Or industrial-strength sanded. Shitty, it had been a nice looking blade.

Well, wasn't this night just going peachy. Oh, yes. Best damn Hallowe'en Howl ever.

I turned my eyes to Donnell. He smiled fondly.

"_Are you a poison-induced hallucination?"_ I thought at him.

"Aye, probably," he said.

Then I died.


	19. Worse Than Death

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers apply

* * *

Part 19: "...Worse Than Death"

November 1st, 2006 – 4:13am

* * *

If there's anything that's worse than dying, it's the coming back.

At first it's the tickle at the bottom of you mind, like a thought or a sound you think you acknowledge in your sleep. Only you're dead.

Thoughts return first, usually something to the effect of: "Dying, dying, ouch, ouch, ouch!"

Which is usually swiftly followed by: "Oh, wait. That's done. Already died. Oh, oh _damn_. And here's ... the ... pain!"

A wave of burning electric agony bursts downward from your head, arcing across numbed and cold nerve endings, shocking them back to life. The pain makes your internal organs squeeze. Your stomach heaves. Your heart twists and jumps – once, twice, and suddenly it's beating again.

The congealed blood in your veins is forcibly jiggled, shoved, moving half-hard through tubes of unprepared tissue. It takes several thumping, fist-like beats for you blood to heat enough to liquefy again, and those first seconds are an anguish of shifting shards under your skin.

The chill of the grave is shoved off your flesh by the burning fire of your engines re-starting, prickling the skin and raising tight, itchy goosebumps.

The last thing to happen is the desperate inflation of the lungs, clearing out the stagnant air of what may have remained of your death-groan. The air hurts, slamming into the brittle dead tissue, jolting it back into pink operation. This results in the characteristic gasping first breath of reviving Immortals.

The pain of revival is usually so intense that it arches the back and rolls the eyes of anyone reawakening.

The only think that I've experienced that hurts worse than either dying or reviving is the Quickening.

Truly, I don't get Phoey. Why would anyone in their sane minds _want _to go through this?

Being Immortal was highly overrated.

* * *

Garret had thoughtfully provided a dust bin.

I gasped, sat up, and puked my guts out.

When I had finished spewing sour food and the lingering traces of poison into the garbage, I lay back down. I pressed one hand over my mouth, wiping away any lingering traces of vomit, and one hand on my forehead, willing the coolness of my formerly dead skin to fight off the sudden burn of illness.

I groaned.

It made me feel marginally better, so I groaned again, louder.

"Here," Garret said.

I cracked an eye. He was hovering above me, holding a paper cup of water. I sat up again, carefully, and gratefully took it, sipping slowly. He looked about as bad as I felt, skin pale still but a high flush of adrenaline sitting like a flag across his cheeks and nose.

He looked half scared to death.

I wondered briefly if the fear was from watching me die, or from having turned somebody's hand into so much hamburger.

The remembered image of Grey Suit's jumbled appendage made my still-delicate stomach do flip-flops and I shoved the mental image aside.

Garret moved the dustbin into the hall, then came back into the room and sat on the ratty couch beside me.

"Why are we in the history lounge?" I asked around slow, swishing swallows.

"Easiest place to move you with a couch."

"And the cops?"

"Gone already. You've been down for about five hours."

"Loverly."

"I gave them my statement. Didn't tell them the bit where I shot him, though. They want you to go down to the station when you feel well enough."

"I'm surprised they didn't drag my corpse down there and wait for me to wake up themselves."

He shrugged. "They tried. I told them I was your Watcher and I would take care of you instead. Cops tend to do whatever I say when an Immortal's involved and I flash my tattoo."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Anything?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, scratching said tattoo nervously. "The number of parking tickets I've been able to get out of is astonishing."

"Fink." I looked around at all the greenery. In the quiet hours of the early morning, the History lounge seemed ...sad. Lonely and worn down. There were only the two of us in it, and the plants, and it felt too empty. I was used to four or five heatedly debating students in here at any one time, trying to keep their voices down for the sake of a napper. "... where's Adam?"

Garret sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, displacing his dark curls. "Still missing."

"Anyone go after them?"

"I told the cops which way they went. Best I could do."

"... think he's dead?"

" ... maybe."

I set aside the empty paper cup, wiped my mouth again, and startled to unbuckle my hip sheath. It was digging. My sword was sitting on the scuffed coffee table. Grey Suit's blood had dried into a crusty, rust-coloured stain on the tip. Garret hadn't cleaned it off.

"So," I said conversationally, "that's another doozy of a secret." My tone was light, but there was a vibrating undertone of fury.

Now that the pain had passed and the jumble of my last pre-death memories had stopped swirling around like drunken leprechauns and started to settle, I remembered what Grey Suit had been screaming about.

Wiping Immortals off the face of the planet. Genocide. Full-scale, indiscriminate. And he wanted Garret to help him.

"We're not going to get into this shit again, are we?" Garret groaned. "I'm not like him and I never wanted to be and I didn't think you needed to know 'cause I didn't think he'd ever do anything as jack-assed as this, okay? He used to be just a talker. Now he's turned into a do-er, and I just didn't expect it."

"Okay, okay," I said. "Just... we gotta find him. We gotta find Adam."

"The cops are looking."

"_That's not good enough!"_

The ringing shout started me, and I was the one who'd said it. I wanted Adam back and I wanted him back now. Safe. Head still attached.

"What, Abby! Are you gonna charge in there like a knight and rescue your lover? He'll have _others_. If not Professor Martin, the at least other Watchers who've joined his side. People who know how to kill you for real."

I stood, brushing the pavement dust and grit off my clothes irritably. "Everyone in the world knows how to kill me, now," I spat. "Thanks to you guys. Fucking blood – it'll never come out of this shirt."

"Get it dry cleaned," Garret snapped. He stood, too, and grabbed my hands to stop my picking at the rusty dots. He folded them in his own. "Let the police handle this, Abby."

"Don't you feel any responsibility for it?" I asked, and the churning soup of guilt and betrayal and hot fury that had taken up residence in my gut since I'd first seen Garret's tattoo was boiling.

I was so angry.

But I was so _sick_ of _being _angry. Especially at Garret. I wanted my best friend back. It didn't mean I felt any less deceived by his failure to tell me that he was my Watcher – it just meant that I had sucked up my hurt pride and realized that I had no reason to hate Garret specifically, though I could still take issue with the Peeping Tom Sickos.

Garret was a Watcher, but that wasn't the be–all-and-end-all of his personality, his existence. The real Garret, I thought, was the person he had been before October 17th. That Garret, my friend, hadn't been a lie. He was still allergic to cats, still hated romantic comedies, still licked the icing out of the centre of the Oreos before eating the cookies. Still wore the same stupid graphic print tee-shirts and still let his eyes follow after a particularly nice female ass.

And I still cared for Adam, didn't I? Even though Adam had been a Watcher in his mortal life. I could still care for Garret, if I let myself. As a friend.

Which, of course, opened up all other sorts of doors, and led to various melanges of complications.

I groaned and rubbed the bridge of my nose, pinching between my eyes. The nice thing about being Immortal that headaches were mercifully brief. Garret was watching me. He still hadn't answered.

"Well," I asked. "Don't you think this is partially your fault?"

"What?" Garret asked, aghast. "You're blaming _me?"_

"Partially," I said. "You could have warned us this guy was in town. You _should_ have, as a Watcher."

"I _didn't know_. It's not like he dropped by to hand me his schedule for the next two weeks. You're being unfair."

"He came after us because of you – he wanted to get at _you_."

Garret recaptured my hands. "He went after you because he wanted to provoke me into joining him. With you gone, I'd have no reason to stay outside of his cause. He thinks that we're lovers, that you're what keeps me from being his groupie. Failing that, he aims to kill me. Adam was sucked into this because he was with _you, _so you are just as responsible for his death as I am. If he dies."

I pouted. I wanted to argue. I wanted to shout at Garret just for the sake of shouting at him. But we had done that enough in the past few weeks. Besides, he had a point. Fucker. "I _hate _it when you're right."

I let him lead me back to the couch. Garret wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I accepted the comforting hug.

"I am not going to sit here and do nothing, you know," I said.

"I know," he whispered to the top of my head. "But, I'm going to share my doozy secret now."

"Great. So who's the psycho?"

Garret sighed heavily again. "Back at the academy, he was my field instructor."

"Field Instructor?"

"The guy who taught me how to put the 'Peeping' in 'Peeping Tom Sicko'. You know, how to tail without being seen, keeping accurate time records, stuff like that. He was a good guy."

"Our definitions of 'good' must be wildly different." He playfully smacked the top of my head. "Ow, okay. So what happened?"

"His wife died. She was gunned down in the courtyard of the European Headquarters, in Paris. She was the head of one of the Continental Field Divisions."

I frowned. "Gunned down? Why?"

I felt Garret shrug again. I reached out and picked at the dried blood splotches on his jeans. "The Immortal who did it wanted to wipe out all the Watchers because some renegades had killed _his _Immortal wife. This guy did it because _he _thought all Immortals were perversions of nature."

I sat up and rubbed my temples. "Whoa, okay. Pause. Let me get this straight..." I began ticking things off on my fingers to try to get them straight. "Psycho wants to kill all Immortals because _his _wife was killed by an Immortal who killed a bunch of Watchers because a _different_ bunch of Watchers beheaded _his _wife, cause _they_ thought Immortals suck."

"Yup."

"Dude," I said, letting my hands drop to my lap. "That's _twisted_."

"Horton was the stat of a lot of bad things," Garrett admitted.

"Ah. Horton. So that's what Adam was talking about. He knew." I scratched my cheek. "So, where do you enter into this equation?"

Garret sat back and ruffled the hair on the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his that I hadn't seen him do since the Vikings final exams in second year. "Well, my Prof went nuts. Started to recruit noobs from his classes, people off the street, zealots, anything and everyone he could turn to his cause. He did a lot of blowing hot air, never got more than four or five people at a time, and he lost them fairly quick, too, so I never worried about him."

"Didn't the higher-ups do something?"

"They fired him."

I snorted. "Hardly conducive to preventing a war between us."

He made a face. "They had a lot to deal with at the time. There was the fallout from loosing all the Field Heads, and they had to switch around all the headquarters and move the libraries and stuff. Not long after that, Meyers happened."

"Huh. So, psycho tried to convert you?"

"Unsuccessfully. I told him to shove it, and transferred to the Canadian Branch to get away from his hoopla. Then I took a field assignment as far away from him as I could get."

"Which was?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "You."

That word hung in the air between us for a long moment.

I broke it with a hushed whisper. "Where will he have taken Adam?"

Garret shook his head slightly. "Abby..."

"I _owe _it to him, Garret. I can't leave him. Adam is in danger because of me. He's my boyfriend. God, Garret, he's so _young_. I don't even know if he can fight. He doesn't deserve to die for this, and certainly not at only seventy years old."

Garret hadn't liked when I'd said the word 'boyfriend'. His face got all twisty and sour.

"Garret, you know I'm right. Let's just... put what's between us aside right now."

"Yes. Right," he said between his teeth. "Aside."

He dug into his blazer pocket and retrieved one of the bulges. It was his cell phone. I assumed the other was the revolver. He flipped it open and punched a few buttons, then showed me the screen.

On it was a single text message. "ST. CATHARINES FORMAL COMBAT AREA. NOW. LET'S FINISH THIS." The time-stamp said 12:07.

I stood up.

"You are an unbelievable bastard," I hissed, scrambling to put my hip sheath back on.

"I didn't want you to go," he said plaintively. He rose too, slowly. "I was going to call the cops, tell them, when you left. I don't want you to die, Abby."

"So you'd let Adam die instead!" I slid my rapier home and it clicked into place with an annoyed snap. "That is so shallow!"

"Abby--!"

I turned to him, my face a grim mask of stony resolve. "I am going. Period."

Garret reached behind the couch and pulled out Adam's abused Ivanhoe. "Fine," he said. "But not alone. He texted me, anyway."

I frowned. "How did he get your cell number?"

"Watcher's database."

I scoffed. Then I eyed the Garret's grip on the hilt of the sword. His thumb would be broken if he ever actually tried to slash at someone that way. "Do you even know how to use that thing?"

He allowed himself a nervous grin. "Pointy end goes into the other guy?"

I snorted. "Antonio you are not."

He reached into his other pocket and withdrew the gun.

"That's better," I said. "Let's go kick some ass." I turned towards the door.

"Abby," he said, looking as if he wanted to grab me, but wasn't sure how to do it with two fistfuls of weapon. "I ... no matter what happens... if you end up with Adam or... or dead, or I die, or... or whatever... I still love you."

I shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to this. "Garret--"

"I just wanted to say it," he interrupted hastily.

"Um. Okay."

"Okay."

We stared at each other for a second.

Then as one we left.

..and how absurd is it that we had to call a taxi to take us to our potentially gristly deaths?

Well, it's not like either Garret or I had cars. And the busses didn't run past 11:45pm.

Damn busses.

If I had chosen the University of Toronto instead of Brock, we could have taken a bus.

The cab driver gave our determined glares a fisheyed glance and wisely decided to say nothing. He probably thought we were two Immortals who wanted to duke it out but were stingy enough to want to share cabfare.

Hn.

And in the back of my mind, I wondered what Donnell would have to say about all of this.

Nothing, probably.

Donnell was dead.


	20. Thanks, but Aim!

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Part Twenty: "Thanks, But Aim."

* * *

November 1st, 2006 – 5am

* * *

Dawn was coming.

The sky was a heavy gunmetal grey, thick and damp with the threat of building rain.

"You know," I said conversationally, "Lily and James Potter were killed by a psycho purist on November first."

Garret paused, holding open the cab door for me, and made a face. "I guess that makes Professor Martin Wormtail. But am I Harry or Sirius?"

"Um... think you'll go to jail tomorrow?"

"Maybe," he said.

"Sirius, then."

He held out his hand to help me out of the cab. I took it. He squeezed my fingers and said, "Don't be Lily." I raised my eyebrow at him. He tugged me to my feet, slammed the car door behind me, and said again, "Don't be Lily. And I won't let Adam be James."

"Right," I said. "I'll do what I can... you can let go now." Garret released my hand, fingers uncurling with reluctance. "Let's go kick some Dark Lord ass."

"Eh," the cabbie said through the window. "You want I should wait for you? Er, wonna you?"

I gave him a glance. "Will you run the meter?"

"Um..." he said, looking at the digital display. I casually laid my hand on the pommel of my sword. "No," he said quickly. "No, I won't."

"Great," I said. "See you soon, I hope."

"Right," he said, swallowing heavily. "Soon."

Garret and I turned to the wide open field. About two hundred meters in front of us "He's hardly in the Dark Lord category," Garret amended conversationally. "More like... Lucius Malfoy."

I snorted. "Pompous, overbearing, ineffective, with a pimp cane?"

"Yeah."

"Works for me."

Garret's free hand was shoved into his blazer pocket, where he was no doubt gripping the gun. His fingers opened and closed repeatedly in a waterfall of nerves on the Ivanhoe's hilt. This was his first real fight.

I'd almost forgotten the nerves that attacked before the first fight. Not that I was Little Miss Calm... but I'd had to fight for my life before. In this case, I was fighting for Adam's life – _if he's still alive_ – but it was the same principal.

Kill the other guy before he kills you – _or Adam_ – or Adam, shut up little niggling voice, and do it fast and ruthlessly.

I'd never been one for fancy swordplay or sweeping gestures. You get inside their defences and you end it. Period. I hoped this time it would be that straightforward.

I laid a comforting hand on Garret's shoulder and squeezed once. "You'll be okay," I said.

"Sure. Right," he said back, his voice tight and his words clipped.

"Breathe," I reminded him.

He took a deep breath, held it for a second, and released it. I could feel some of the tension leak away. "Right, so, ah... we got a plan, Abby?"

"Save Adam, possibly kill psycho, and kick Prof. Martin in the nuts. Hard."

Garret wuffed out a chortle before he could clamp down on it. "Right, right. Good plan. Now, seriously?"

I shrugged. "I go in first? You shoot it if it moves?"

"What if I shoot Adam?"

"I'm sure he'll forgive you later."

"What if I shoot him on purpose?"

I punched Garret's arm. "You really don't like my boyfriend, do you?"

Garret's gay mood simmered. "If it wasn't for him, you might be calling me that right now."

"Uh-huh," I agreed. "Maybe. But if it wasn't for Adam, it'd been you that had been poisoned and I'd be at your funeral instead of here trying to play hero."

He grimaced. "Point."

Did I believe what I had just said? If Adam hadn't shown up, would I be with Garret now? It was a question I had asked myself a number of times over the past two weeks. If Adam hadn't have arrived, then perhaps Garret's declaration of love on my couch might not have gone unheeded.

On the other hand, if it wasn't for Adam chiding me and talking to me about the Peeping Tom Sickos, then I would still be furious with Garret, and would never have talked to him at all.

It was hard to say what would have happened.

So I stopped dwelling on it. It _hadn't _happened and that's just the way things were.

Instead I turned my attention to the Formal Combat Area ahead of us. There weren't many places to hide inside of it, pretty much on purpose. There were the bleachers, and the would be a pain in the ass to leap over, but otherwise the whole structure was open in an effort to keep the playing field level between two Immortal opponents.

The whole thing rather reminded me of a Gladiatorial Coliseum, and not in the good way. I was not so much a fan of FCAs, any more than I was a fan of the VWL. But they kept rubbernecking mortals safe from the Quickening, so I guess I couldn't complain. They were a part of life now, like Immortal IDs and Phoey.

Didn't mean I had to like them, though.

The last Immortal to deliberately take a head outside of an FCA had been charged with 'Wilful Destruction of Property' and 'Attempted Manslaughter' when the Quickening had destroyed a parking garage of Benzes and electrocuted a valet on his way to pick one up.

I shudder to think what would happen to an Immortal in jail – probably get passed around the big bastards, and killed regularly for the thrill of it, cause it wasn't like you wouldn't come back.

So FCAs and VWLs and FOIs and IDs it was.

Too many damn acronyms in my life, lately.

The FCA in particular that I was scoping out was just on the outskirts of the city, in a large field that had once been a Vineyard. The founder of the Winery was an Immortal, so he had donated land in about six different countries from his dozens of farms in an attempt to generate more business. Savvy, savvy man.

A high wooden wall surrounded the arena, and several haphazard bleachers had been set up by those who liked to watch. Sometimes the city or theatre groups rented the FCA to setup bazaars or stage outdoor plays, but not often.

Nobody really liked the thought of performing where others had fought for their lives and died.

Once there had been a sort of play-protest, in which the local University theatre group had created a drama to call for the abolishment of the Game. I went and saw it three times, completely in agreement with the message, even though the Quickenings were represented by thrown paper streamers and the dialogue was written in slip-shod metaphors.

The actor playing the Immortal had done a funny dance with a screwed up face to represent the pleasure and pain of the Quickening.

I had laughed out loud, when everyone else in the audience had been crying. Well, it was _funny_. I was fairly certain no one had ever done such a strange little jig while taking a Quickening and I kept imagining an Immortal tap dancing around lightning strikes.

I scanned the high walls of the FCA for the tell-tale glint of starlight on metal, and found none. No snipers, that I could see, but made a point of moving in front of Garret to block any bullets that may come out of the darkness.

Two large metal spikes towered over the bleachers on either end of the roughly circular field to help keep mortal spectators safe from lightning. Quickenings tended to prefer Immortals over the tallest object in the area, but sometimes they weren't so picky about their conductors.

The field itself, I knew, was covered with springy turf and lush green grass, well cared for to erase unsightly scorch marks and ankle-twisting divots. It wouldn't do for an Immortal to loose because they had tripped.

I, myself, had fought here only once since its construction, and obviously I had won, though I knew of other fights that had taken place here. I was more or less the only Immortal who lived in the St. Catharine's area, but nearby Niagara Falls had a few, and there were always those who were travelling on the 400 series highways that cut across southern Ontario.

I didn't know who he'd been, my single Challenger. He had breezed into town, issued the Challenge, called me a whole slew of insulting things, and set the time. I was just POed enough at his audacity to take him up on it.

Jerk.

At the time I had cancelled my plans with Garret to go see the new Joss Weadon movie. I told him I had caught a cold to keep him from knowing and from worrying about me. Back when I had still completely trusted Garret and thought he'd been just an innocent mortal, I had been concerned that he would get himself hurt trying to protect me.

Back before I knew he loved me. Back before I knew that he was my Watcher and that he knew better than to jump into the middle of a Challenge.

I had always sort of known in the back of my mind, ever since the United Nation's announcement, that I had to have a Watcher. I had just been content with the thought that I would never know who it was. My Watcher was still a Peeping Tom Sicko, but he or she was a faceless one, and I could deal with that.

To know that my best friend had been...

The anger flared again and I shoved it back down. Now as not the time.

And it's not like he had become my best friend _because _he was my Watcher. In fact, if had been me who had talked to him first. I had told him I liked his tee-shirt. It had said, "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, All my base are belong to you."

But even though I hadn't told him about the Challenge, Garret would had known, of course, that I was going to fight. The other Immortal's Watcher had probably told him.

A stabbing pierce of guilt slammed into my stomach.

Garret had watched me fight. Garret had known I might die.

And because of his oath, he couldn't tell me that he wanted me to be careful before hand. He couldn't tell me that he was scared that I might die.

And because of my own selfishness and stubbornness, and my inability to trust him with my secret even though the world knew what Immortals were, we might never have had the chance to discuss it.

We would never have had the chance to say goodbye.

The thought was sobering.

I wanted to tell him this.

That I was sorry, now, that I had never trusted him. That I had been such a poor friend in the past.

That I was such a poor friend, now.

I stopped and turned around to look at him. He stopped too, met my gaze. His green eyes were full of fear and shivering determination. Garret had never fought before, I was suddenly reminded. He was afraid he was going to die in a few minutes.

Now was a bad time to say a 'just in case' goodbye.

Even if I wanted to, badly.

He needed my support, not my pity. He needed hope, not 'just in case'es.

Now was a very bad time to apologize.

There would be plenty of time after – when Adam was safe and burning dinner, and Grey Suit was corpsified, and Prof. Martin was behind bars. Then I could talk to Garret, finally talk to him.

Then I could say 'I'm sorry.'

Instead I said, "What kind of moron cops wouldn't look here first for a psycho Deatheater wannabe with an Immortal hostage?"

"St. Catharine's cops," Garret said. A smile threatened on his lips. Some more of the stiff tension left his frame.

Good enough.

"Right," I agreed. "Ready?"

"Ready."

We began to walk again. After a few steps, the familiar buzz of a Quickening skimmed across my brain. It might not have been Adam's, but I doubted a different Immortal would be in on Grey Suit's sucky crusade.

And if there was an Immortal with him, I was gonna kill it good.

"Thank God," I sighed. "Adam's alive."

"Good," Garret said. "Much as I think he's a jerk, you like him. Let's keep him that way."

I put my hand on the knob of the door that would take us through the wooden wall, pushing on it gently, testing for bombs or electrocutions or booby traps. Nothing.

It was even unlocked.

What the hell was Grey Suit playing at?

I pushed the door open slowly.

Nothing.

Hm.

I smiled, put a hand on the wall.

"I wonder whose bril idea it was to construct a wooden wall for a place consistently bombarded with lighting," I said over my shoulder to Garret. He grinned. Finally, he was relaxed enough to not shoot his own foot out of nerves. "I mean, hello, firetrap much?"

* * *

Adam was on his knees in the middle of the field. It was a humiliating position and it was meant to be. Ropes were wrapped over and over down his chest, pinning his arms firmly behind him. Obviously he had fought back rather well.

His lip was torn and split, dribbling a bit of blood. Dried liquid of the same persuasion from his formally broken nose was crusted all down his chin and neck.

His skin was ashen.

He looked like shit.

I wondered if they had poisoned him again, to keep him docile. I wouldn't put it past Grey Suit.

Garret and I stopped just inside of the doorway, eyes skimming the bleachers for shooters, supporters, acolytes, anyone. No one.

Hm, again.

Professor Martin stood beside Adam, Grey Suit's sword poised just above Adam's neck. Martin's skin was ashen too, though I don't think it was from poison.

Grey Suit stood behind him, hand still swaddled with his garish blue tie, though blood had seeped through to polka dot it with gore. He was grinning like a fiend.

"Now!" Grey Suit cried.

I saw their plan in an instant. Kill Adam, distract me with a Quickening – take out Garret, then me. Garret wasn't moving fast enough. I wished I had a gun. I'd shoot Martin in the arm, make him unable to swing.

Professor Martin hesitated. "But--!" he said. Oh, thank God he was a bad acolyte. "I wanna be a Watcher. I don't see how killing an Immortal will do that!"

So he'd been played too.

I could use that. Maybe.

"Do it now!" Grey suit shrieked.

Martin raised the blade, but his hesitancy had given us the stall we'd needed. Garret's gun coughed beside my ear. He was a lousy shot, but the sound of the gun firing was enough to make Professor Martin back up with tripping, terrified steps, and drop the sword.

Adam winced as the bullet lanced into his shoulder.

"Hey, kid," he wheezed. "Thanks for the rescue, but fucking _aim!_"


	21. Shishkebab

Swordbearer

By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Part Twenty-One: "Shish-kebab"

* * *

November 1st, 2006 - 5:23am 

Grey Suit lunged for the dropped sword and I wondered why the hell he didn't have his own gun. Or snipers. Or help, for that matter.

This whole thing seemed rather poorly planned. Had he really been banking on the poisoned beer killing Garret and me, and just lopping my head off in the parking lot. Had he really not made any back up plans?

Had he really come after us with just Professor Martin as his back up?

Pretty fucking pathetic Dark Lord, if you asked me. He went down another five notches in my internal Potter-o-meter.

He was no longer Lucius Malfoy. He was now Goyle Sr.

If he proved himself to be any more stupid, I'd have to demote him to Draco, or worse, Filch.

Garret fired again and the bullet skimmed Grey Suit's ear. He jerked backwards, and Adam rolled onto his side, effectively pinning the sword under his ass. It wasn't the smoothest of moves, but it kept the deadly blade out of anyone's hands.

Garret only had a revolver –and where the hell did he get such an antiquated piece, anyway – so at most he only had four shots left. If he hadn't re-filled it after earlier tonight, then it left him with two.

Better to assume he only had two.

Right, my turn.

I drew my sword, gripped the hilt in both hands, and ran at Grey Suit.

"Fuck!" he shrieked, and skipped backwards, out of the way.

He had been a decent skill at the swordfighting when Adam and I had been weakened and slowed down by poison, but now I was healthy again, and pissed, and he was weaponless. Behind me I heard Martin begging Garret not to hurt him, and Adam shouting at Garret to shoot the son of a bitch in the foot.

Grey Suit tripped backwards again, trying to avoid my furious slashes. I wasn't aiming to kill him, just maim him. A lot. The blood began to blossom on his ruined hand again, and I knew that I had the advantage. He was ill from the shot, probably weak from blood loss.

All I had to do was whack him on the side of the face hard enough with the flat of my blade and it would be all over.

He ran, I chased. We left the others by the door. I could hear the beeps of Garret's cell phone number pad.

The distinctive tone for 9-1-1.

Adam was safe. Martin was cowed. Garret was in control.

All I had to do was get Grey Suit to stop running away from me like a terrified rabbit.

God, I am _so _arrogant and stupid sometimes.

He whirled around, let the momentum of my thrust carry me past him. There was a flat cracking sound. Stars burst between my eyes. The back of my head suddenly hurt, a lot, and I couldn't seem to focus on any coherent thought.

_Had a gun_, my scrambled grey matter managed to come up with. _Underestimated. On the other side of the field. Too far from Garret. Dying now, ouch, ouch, ouch._

I fell.

Men who loved me both screamed. The ground trembled. Feet ran towards me. Too damn far away.

Shit, shit, shit.

Eyes closed. Couldn't get them open.

Shit!

Fingers fought with mine for the blade. The world was sinking. I was sinking.

"Oh, lass," Donnell whispered.

I refused to let go. The other fingers got more desperate as the feet pounded closer. My head fucking _hurt_.

I jerked.

The death spasm grabbed me and I thought, _Fuck if I'm going alone!_

I brought my arm up, slammed it into the air. The blade met resistance. Another spasm wracked me and I used it, used the electric shudder of my nerves to push the blade in further.

Grey Suit screamed. Someone else groaned.

I dragged my eyes open, sucked in my last breath.

Grey Suit was impaled on my sword, hanging limply, already dead.

Garret was behind him, an arm locked around Grey Suit's throat. He looked surprised.

"Ga...rreeeeh?" I managed to form a mockery of his name with my exhalation.

He coughed. Blood flecked his lips, dribbled down his chin.

"Abby," he whispered.

Death made me let go and they fell.

I could hear sirens in the distance.

"Someone gonna fucking untie me!" Adam shrieked, and it was the last thing I heard.

_Oh, no, no, no_ I thought before I could think no more.

* * *

I woke in the back of an ambulance. It was rocking back and forth, making my already delicate stomach broil. 

"Ugh," I said.

"She's awake," a paramedic shouted. "The bullet has been rejected by her body. Lift your head miss--" I did as he told and he reached behind me and plucked up the bloody bullet from the pillow. "Thank you."

He put the bullet in a plastic bag, checked his watch, marked the time on the bag, and set it aside. He changed the pillow and helped me to lay back down.

"That's disgusting, you know," I said. "All Wolverine-y."

"It came out of you," he replied, looking slightly startled.

"Which is why it's disgusting."

I closed my eyes to try to block out the nauseating vertigo.

Then I sat bolt upright. "Garret!" I screamed.

The paramedic's wide hand pressed against my chest, trying to get me to lay down again. I resisted and he gave up.

"Where's Garret?" I screamed.

"Mr. Small was airlifted to Hamilton General Hospital," the paramedic said soothingly.

"Will he be okay? Oh, god, Garrett..."

The paramedic looked away.

"Is that a no?"

"We don't know," he said. "His lung was punctured. He was drowning. They're doing everything they can."

"I killed my best friend," I whispered. Finally, I lay back down and the paramedic looked relieved. "Where are we going?" I asked him.

"Police station," he said. "They wanted to take you in a car. We wanted to take you to the hospital. We compromised – you have to go to the station now, but we made them at least let you go in an ambulance in case there were complications."

I scoffed. "I'm Immortal, what kind of complications could there possibly be?"

The paramedic shrugged. "Dunno. I've never seen anyone wake up after getting their brains scrambled," he said softly.

I wuffed out a laugh. "Remind me to tell you how much it hurts – in blatant detail – sometime."

The paramedic turned a funny shade of mint. "Er. No thanks."

* * *

The first thing I heard when I entered the police station downtown was Adam's voice shouting. 

"You have got to be the dumbest man to hold a PhD in the history of the world!"

"But, but," Professor Martin burbled.

"This strange guy _comes _to you, says he heard you had aspirations to be a Watcher, and asks you for all the dirt on Abs and you just _gave_ it to him!"

"He had Watcher ID!"

"Any jerk kid with a decent printer can have Watcher ID!" Adam snarled. "And any regular moron would have called the Hotline to confirm it! Didn't any warning bells go off when he asked you to help him _kill us!_"

"He didn't ask until after he had poisoned you. He just said that you two were in danger and we had to get you out of the city!"

Adam made an extremely angry sound. It was followed by a meaty thwaping sound and a body hitting to floor.

The police officer escorting me hurried over to the door that separated Adam and Professor Martin from the rest of the station. He opened it on an interrogation room. A mortal woman in the corner, holding a note pad and pencil tightly in white knuckled hands, looked shocked.

Adam was rubbing his knuckles.

Professor Martin was laying on the floor, unconscious. Probably with a few teeth loose.

"Aw," I said. "And I wanted to kick him in the junk."

Adam looked up. "He'll wake up eventually," he said, and a wicked grin grew on his face.

"Mr. Pierson, Miss Diedre," the police officer behind me said, motioning for two younger cops to drag Martin to elsewhere, "We're ready to take your statements now if you'd like to take a seat. Another detective will be in shortly to take you to a different room, Mr. Pierson, but you can calm down here. Do you mind if we use tape recorders for--"

More shouting echoed through the police station, cutting him off.

I snapped my head up, whirling to face the door.

No.

_No._

That son of a bitch was dead.

I'd put the sword through his gut myself.

"No, no, no!" he was howling.

Then my head hurt. I winced. And then I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Grey Suit was dragged by the door, a large, muscley cop clinging to each arm. His suit was bloody, torn, but the skin that showed through underneath was perfectly smooth, and whole.

"You, you!" he snarled with blazing eyes. "You _infected me!_"

"Come along, sir," one of the cops snarled. "There's a nice cozy jail cell waiting for you. You'll enjoy it. You're Immortal now – what's twenty years in the clink?"

"_Nooooooooooooooo!" _Grey Suit yowled and they dragged him away.

"Now _that_," I said, feeling smug and content, "Is what I call a plot twist."

Adam chortled. "Dramatic Irony at its finest, to be sure."

"Mr. Pierson? Ms. Diedre?" the detective said. "Your statements?"

* * *

November 3rd, 2006 – evening. 

And just like that, Adam was leaving.

I stood in his dining room, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What do you mean, you quit?" I repeated, aghast.

"I said I quit. St. Catharines freaks me out. Too many psychos."

I slid closer to him, took his hands in mine. "There was just the one."

He lifted his hand and ran his thumb over my lips. "I'm gonna go put my head under the sand for a little while. Hide. Get rid of the willies. I feel like I'm being watched."

"So you'll just take off?"

He kissed me softly, gently. "You could come with me."

I shook my head. "I can't. Garret's still in the hospital. He needs me. And he's my Watcher. If I went, and he could follow, they may reassign him."

Adam sighed heavily and ran his hand through his short dark hair. "I expected this," he said.

"Expected what?" I asked, anger leaking slowly into my voice.

The fingers wrapped around mine squeezed. "I see the way you look at him while he's sleeping. I watched you the last time we visited the hospital."

"Adam..."

He kissed me again to stop my protest.

"Maybe another time," he whispered.

"Another time?" I laughed softly against his mouth, our foreheads touching. "Like when?"

"I dunno," he said. "See you in Paris, steps of Notre-Dame, in exactly one hundred years."

I bit the tip of his beautiful nose gently. "Cocky young ass."

"That's me."

"So, that's it then? Just like that? Over?"

He shrugged. "For now."

"For now," I agreed. "You wanna come to the hospital with me this afternoon?"

Adam pulled back slightly and scoffed. "What, and watch you make out with the Watcher who's replaced me?"

I thwapped his arm.

He made a face and rubbed the spot I'd hit. "Hey, I'm still tender from getting shot there."

"Liar."

"I am. But I gotta pack."

"Right," I said. "Pack."

* * *

November 10th, 2006 – afternoon 

I waved good bye to Adam.

He waved back from the rear window of the bus.

Yes. I was sad he was going, but happy with how things had ended.

One day, I would see him again, I hoped.

I turned and gave Garret a little kiss on the cheek. Garret was using me as support to lean on. He was still pale and weak, but he looked better every day. He didn't have to stay at the hospital any more, and seeing as the Watchers had moved him and I wasn't allowed to know where he lived, he had been staying at my place where I could... ahem... take care of him.

Yes.

Pretty decent on the happy ending, if I did say so myself, even if I knew I would miss Adam.

Nortre-Dame. Front Steps. A hundred years from now.

I thought I could wait.

I was just glad that Adam had been as open, and honest, and trusting, and understanding as he had been. Our relationship had been based on complete honesty.

I was glad that Adam hadn't had a dirty little secret.

God knows I was sick of those.

**End.

* * *

**

Thus ends Swordbearer!

Please feel free to join the Swordbearer Writer's Circle, at

t v . g r o u p s . y a h o o . c o m / g r o u p / s w o r d b e a r e r /

write your own fanfiction based in the Swordbearer universe. Everything and everyone is welcome.

Remove the spaces, and Ill see you there!

--Vega


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